


Captivation

by kaeorin



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asgard, Captivity, Castles, Dubious Consent, F/M, POV, POV Second Person, Royalty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 166,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fairly AU, female-reader-centric. You grew up in a small village outside of the palace, surrounded by the usual gossip and chatter about the royals but rarely partaking in any of it. What will happen when you are summoned to one of the grand palace balls, and subsequently chosen as the prince's consort?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This has been sitting on my hard drive for ages now, and I'm still not sure if I really want to share it, but as I have several chapters written already, I decided to give it a shot. Be warned that there is some occasional violence depicted against the reader-slash-main-character, so if that's something that might trigger you or offend you, this might be one to give a miss. Sorry. (I'm not sure whether it qualifies as truly "graphic" as per the archive warning system, but I figure it's better to be safe than put an innocent reader in a bad mental place.) I've done my best to keep things fairly accurate to the film, but in the case of any noticeable errors, please note that I do intend this as an alternate universe. Please let me know if anything is distractingly out of place, however: I am more than willing to fix things as necessary!

In hindsight, you should have known that something was wrong when your father presented you with the gown. It was a beautiful silken thing, a rich emerald color that didn't match your eyes, necessarily, but did make them stand out somehow. There were intricate designs embroidered in gold thread along the bodice, and they caught the light with each tiny movement. It was soft and beautiful, and unlike anything else you'd ever worn, and that should have been a clue. Your clothes were cheap and perfunctory, at this point more patch than original fabric, and there was a reason for that. Your father was cheap and he only spent what he absolutely had to—and certainly never on anyone but himself. You should have run while you had the chance, before the carriages showed up at your door.

Three men and a woman stood outside, their clothes bearing the crest of the royal family. At first you thought they had come for your brother. He was an idiot, and really not suited for much work in the military beyond the front line, but he was solidly build and could probably take a dozen bullets before falling. But then the woman caught your eyes almost pityingly.

“Are you ready, my lady?” she asked. Upon your bewildered expression, she elaborated. “The ball. Are you ready? We are here to escort you.”

The pleading look you sent your father did nothing, as he refused to look at you. He handed the box containing that cursed gown to the lady, and two of the men came to grip your arms firmly. They led you to the carriage outside without a word.

In the past, “going to the ball” was the polite euphemism that families used when their daughters were kidnapped and forced into harems at the palace. These girls would never return to their families: they would serve as whores for the king or the prince, or even any visitors to whom the royals granted permission. When they grew too old, or fell pregnant, they were either turned into palace servants or simply killed to prevent a bastard from interfering with a rightful heir.

Today, the balls were supposedly more civilized. The outcome was the same, of course, but now many girls were invited to the palace for dinner and dancing before the king or the prince selected his favorites. It was touted as an honor now, and many girls grew up believing that it was. You knew several girls who had been dreaming about this day since the first time they heard the stories. You had been dreading it. You told yourself that you were too poor, too plain, too stupid to ever be summoned, let alone chosen, but now your last hope was that you would not attract too much attention from His Majesty's eyes. Your family would, of course, be handsomely rewarded if your company were...desired, which would explain the gamble that your father had taken on that dress. You settled back against the plush cushions of the carriage and tried to ignore both the weight of the box in your lap and the churning in your stomach. It would be mortifying to vomit all over the inside of a royal carriage—though you could not deny the small trace of glee that your small protest would bring you.

“You were not told.” The woman sounded sympathetic. As though she had any idea what this was like. The temptation to cross your arms and simply ignore her was great, but it was childish and could easily get you into deep trouble with the king. So you shook your head and swallowed hard.

“No, m'lady. But I...accept my summons gratefully.” The words tasted sour, like bile, and you had to swallow again. “May I ask who has invited me?” You could only hope that it would be the firstborn, Prince Thor. He was known to be just and honorable. He would not take someone unwilling, not with a room full of girls begging to be chosen. There was nothing preventing the King from building another harem—unless you counted his wife, of course. Queen Frigga was unlikely to allow such a thing. The woman glanced at the box in your lap and smiled grimly at you.

“My lady, does the green and gold of your dress not tell you?”

Loki. The younger brother of Thor. He had always struck you as the worst kind of royal (not that you personally knew of many): bitter about his place in his family and drunk on what little power he did have. He did not make many appearances with the rest of his family, but when he did, the differences between his brother and him was always jarring. He was, without a doubt, the kind of man who might create a harem made up entirely out of unwilling women for the simple pleasure of breaking them, exerting control over them. Suddenly, you felt even sicker, and it didn't help that the carriage jolted to a halt outside another house.

Soon, there were half a dozen other girls in your carriage, all giggling and jabbering excitedly about the ball and their chances of being selected. It was easy to fade into the background of such a din, but it was impossible to forget where you were going.

***

By the time you arrived at the palace, the small room the guards herded you into to change was already filled with girls and their things. Thankfully, you managed to find a corner to change in. After struggling with the zipper on your dress, you turned around and noticed that more than a few pairs of eyes were looking at you. Appraising you. Some apparently decided that you were no threat, while others grew even colder.

“Looks like someone's got a thing for Prince Loki,” someone muttered, and several girls tittered. Now that you looked around the room, it became even clearer who most of the girls were hoping to impress. Your dress was a tiny green island amongst a sea of red and gold. There were girls applying crimson powder to their eyelids and girls tying golden ribbons into their hair. There were even a few girls wearing the darker hue commonly associated with the king's cloak. It was horrifying. You looked down at your dress. There were girls dressed in green, of course—there would always be girls interested in that kind of man—but your dress stood out. It was shimmering and glowing in the light, and that was no good at all. Even worse, it was sure to attract the wrong kind of attention from the wrong prince.

You were just beginning to panic again when a small girl in a forest-green dress that seemed like it should have belonged to someone taller—an older sister, perhaps?—came over to you and smiled almost shyly. It was hard for you to believe that she could possibly be of age, but that was none of your business. “Would you like me to brush your hair, m'lady?” she asked. You shook your head—you had carefully worked the tangles out of your hair with your fingers, and it now fell in waves around your shoulders, but that was all the effort that you desired to put into it. Nothing elaborate, nothing fancy, nothing that would draw attention to you. “No, thank you. I'd prefer to let it be.” The girl nodded again and took in your appearance. Her eyes traveled along the designs in your bodice, down to the skirts that flared out just slightly around your hips, and you recognized that small flash of jealousy. You knew that feeling well. Something twisted inside you. You'd always longed for a sister, and now you wanted to hide this girl, protect her from the night's dangers. “I could do your hair, if you'd like.”

The girl accepted with an excited nod, and you set about working her long hair into a simple braid. It was elegant (or as elegant as fingers like yours could manage) without being too showy, and the mindless activity allowed the fear to drain from your body. The two of you began talking, and before you knew it, another woman was poking her head in to tell you all to line up for the entrance.

In a different situation, the ballroom might have taken your breath away, but as things were, you would barely remember it. The royal family sat at the front of the room, and as each girl passed them, she fell into a deep curtsy. The king and queen watched benignly, royal smiles fixed firmly on their faces as each girl passed them. Thor was smiling kindly and nodding reassuringly to the girls, though he showed no interest in the gowns of blood and gold. Loki seemed least interested of all. When a girl not swathed in his brother's colors crossed in front of him, he seemed to prick up a bit, but it was always short-lived, because even they were always staring, moon-faced, at his brother. You felt a stab of pity for the prince, but it quickly disappeared, overtaken by nausea. It wasn't as though he hadn't had a choice in this. The girl—Sigg was her name—nudged you excitedly from her place in front of you.

“He's looking at us!” She whispered, and stood up straighter to try to look older. You put your hands on her bare shoulders and squeezed gently.

“No, he's looking at you. Your hair must be even more beautiful than I thought.”

She giggled and took her turn in front of the royals, which left you with the uncomfortable realization that Prince Loki was, in fact, looking right at you. You took your turn and tried not to look at anyone—not Loki, not Thor, not Sigg, not anyone. It was all you could do to keep from freezing on the spot. Finally, you were able to join the rest of the girls at the side of the room before the ball was announced officially open. Sigg giggled about the way Loki had been unable to tear his eyes away from you, but you did your best to steer her away from the topic each time.

Avoiding the prince was easy, for the most part. There would be a sudden flurry of activity nearby, which gave you plenty of time to melt away in the opposite direction. Many times you thought you could feel a cold stare on the back of your neck, but when you searched the crowd, you saw only your fellow guests. When you had to duck into the washroom, you managed to sink into a group of red dresses, and you were careful to avoid the tables set out with offerings of food and drink. As long as you stayed in the middle of the dance floor, with plenty of room on each side of you, and away from corners, you would be just fine.

The night was beginning to come to a close and you hadn't seen either of the princes for the better part of an hour when you ducked out onto the balcony. There were fewer girls out here, and the night air felt cool and refreshing on your skin. This running was exhausting, but, below, you could see the carriages lining up to take you home. You let a sigh pass your lips. Relief. Your father would be livid that his money had been wasted, and surely you would be made to bear the brunt of that anger, but it was still safer than being here.

“Enjoying the night, my lady?” The voice was low in your ear and ever so slightly raspy. You had not heard it very frequently, but you recognized it immediately and your heart sank. The prince. Loki.

You spun around, and were taken aback by how close he was standing to you. Either one of you would only have to lift an arm a few inches and you would be touching. You could swear that you could feel the heat of his body seeping through your dress, though of course that was ridiculous, especially with the breeze that blew through you. His eyes were glowing with light reflected from the ballroom and the night sky, and they were trained, unblinking and with far too much interest, on you. It was hard to breathe. You lowered your eyes and sank into a curtsy, despite the lack of space between you.

“Forgive me, my lord prince, but I am no lady. I am merely a girl from the village.” If he knew how lowly you were, perhaps he would be less likely to bother with you. Your dress, however, would make a hard case for your family's poverty. He smiled a bit and lifted your hand to his lips, never tearing his eyes away from yours.

“You are breathtaking in my colors, my lady.” It was his only reply, but it said enough. Something made you want to tell him that it was a coincidence, that you actually wanted nothing more out of life than to be one of Prince Thor's sluts, but the words would not come. You were too proud, perhaps, or too honest.

“Thank you, sir.” It was a poor substitute for the desperate appeal you longed to make. Please do not choose me. Please let me go home. Please. You could not look at him, but he tugged lightly on your arm.

“Dance with me.”

It was not a request, and, even if it had been, refusing it would not have been an option. So you let him lead you back into the ballroom, let him put his hands on your hips and pull you close. Too close. He was a strong leader, though, and so light on his feet that he seemed to be floating. By comparison, you felt more like some kind of well-trained beast. You could follow along, and you picked up on the steps easily, but it was not nearly so magical. Instead of frustration at your gracelessness, he seemed to hold only amusement. A hint of a smile hovered near his lips, but it did not seem overtly mocking. In any case, you were attracting attention: jealous stares even from the girls in scarlet. After all, you had the undivided attention of a prince.

You would gladly have given it to any other girl in the room.

A second song drew to a close, and then a third and the prince continued to pull you closer. Occasionally he lowered his head to allow his lips to graze the skin of your neck, and then your cheeks. When he finally moved in to kiss you, your spine stiffened and you would have pulled away if his arms had not been locking you in place against his body. There was a moment of stunned silence as he processed what had just happened, and then his face hardened with irritation.

“I am your prince,” he hissed. People around you were staring for entirely different reasons now: jealousy had turned into shock, and maybe a bit of fear. You held your back straight and ignored the smirks that a few of the girls were sending your way.

“I am sorry, my lord, please, forgive me. It was...reflex. Instinct, sire.” This was bad. This was very, exceedingly, dangerously bad. Anger was flaring in the prince's eyes, and it was a well-documented fact that when royalty got this angry, other people got hurt. Suddenly the threat was not just against you and your modesty, but against your entire family as well. Your apologies did nothing.

“Any other woman in this room would be glad to suffer my kiss, and you, who come here wearing my colors, spend your night running from me at every opportunity and recoil from me as though I had venom in my fangs.” He gestured to someone in the crowd, and for the second time that day, you found yourself flanked by silent guards. “Take her,” he spat. “I have made my decisions. The night is over.”

The guards led you from the room, and you concentrated on turning your heart to stone. Begging would not work, and you would not give him the satisfaction of your tears. It was best, for now, to accept your fate silently and without a struggle. They took you to a large room full of dark furniture, with a fireplace burning brightly and a window seat cut into the stone walls, but not much else. This was not a prison cell, but neither was it how you would have expected a palace whore to live. At the very least, you'd expected that there would be more than one bed. The guards left and the heavy door locked behind them. You were trapped.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING IN THIS CHAPTER: Violence, assault, and graphic verbal threats thereof.
> 
> I know I've already kind of warned for this in the summary and in the notes for the first chapter and by clicking the buttons up there, but I do not want to risk accidentally triggering any of my readers who may not have been expecting this kind of stuff. 
> 
> As much as we fangirls may like him, and as sympathetic as the lovely Tom Hiddleston can make him, the fact remains that Loki is not a nice guy, especially in this story where I'm trying to write him as a spoiled and short-tempered royal who has never really been told "no" before. His intentions toward our narrator are good, but his behavior will often...leave a lot to be desired.

No one else joined you that night, and eventually you allowed yourself to pull back the heavy furs on the bed and fall asleep. You slept lightly in such an unfamiliar place. Every sound roused you, and you laid there staring with wide eyes into the darkness. Twice you dreamed that the prince was there, once creeping under the covers and once merely stroking your face, but each time you ripped yourself from your sleep with a sob and the dream disappeared.

In the morning, a small servant woke you up by opening the curtains. The light of the morning flooded the room. She smiled when you sat up. “My lady, your breakfast is on the tray by your bed, and someone will be in shortly with some clothing for you.” Another shy smile. “Everybody is talking about last night.”

Not good. You cringed, and swung your feet over the edge of the bed. Breakfast was certain to be horrifying—cold porridge, probably, or stale bread. What more would a wretch like you deserve from the royal family? Because it was true that you sincerely did not wish to be at the ball last night, but there were also measures that you could ostensibly have taken. Appeals were sometimes granted. You could have taken a vow of chastity and been excused from the whole debacle—if only you had had enough forewarning. To an outsider, you were a monster and deserved whatever you got.

The sight that greeted you instead shocked you: fried meats, eggs, a variety of sliced fruits, and a large mug of tea steaming merrily all filled the air with a delicious smell. After working so hard to avoid the food at the ball last night, you were starving, but you touched nothing. You couldn't trust it. Something was guaranteed to be drugged, or even poisoned. It was absolutely one of Loki's tricks, a punishment. You turned from the tray, to face the servant.

“Am I in quite a lot of trouble, do you think?” Really, though, the amount of trouble was irrelevant: it was the consequences that you would need to worry about. “What will happen to my family?”

An apologetic shrug. “I don't know, m'lady. I am but a kitchen girl. I expect they'll be paid, like all of the other families have been. I should go. Someone will come to collect your tray later.” And with that, she disappeared back through the door. She was careful to lock it behind her, but even if you were to try to follow her out into the corridors, you didn't know your way around the palace. You would be caught almost immediately, and the punishment would become even more severe. You sank back onto the bed and fought the tears.

As promised, a woman came through the door later. Her face was age-worn but still bright, and her arms were full of dresses. She regarded the heaping tray with a disapproving look and a tut-tut of her tongue.

“You'll need to eat, my lady. We can't let you starve.”

“I ate too much at the ball last night. I'm not hungry.” The lie would not have convinced even your brother, but there it was anyway. The woman shook her head and spread the dresses out on the bed. She eyed you thoughtfully before choosing one from the pile and holding it out in front of you. It was silk, like your gown from the night before, but clearly of a much finer quality. There were tiny gems sewn into the neckline and trails of them flowed down into the full skirts. It was, of course, a rich green.

“He'll love you in this.”

“That's hardly my main concern.” You sounded for all the world like a sulky child.

“Well, it should be. Do you have any idea what an honor this is? All the girls in attendance last night and he picks this one.” She dragged you to your feet and led you to a door you had yet to notice. “We can't make you eat, but we can make you wash up. Into the tub. You're not coming out of there until all that town dirt is gone. And you only get so much hot water, so don't sit there pouting. Get to it.” She pushed you into the washroom and closed the door behind you. You knew that it was probably just for your privacy, but still you listened for the click of a lock.

When, as the woman said, all of the town dirt had been washed away, you dried and dressed, and stepped back into your empty room. The breakfast tray had been taken away, and another left in its place. There was a tureen of some kind of rich soup and several large chunks of bread, as well as another mug of tea. Once again, you touched none of it, though by now the smell was beginning to make you change your mind. Think of the poison, you told your stomach. Think of the drug, or the potion. It was dangerous, more dangerous than starving to death. At least that way, you'd be spared the shame that was to come. You gave the tray one last longing look and then went to sit in the window. Your room looked out onto the front of the grounds, and the window might have been large enough to attempt an escape, if you weren't high in the clouds. Still, it offered a kind of escape, if you got desperate enough. Peering at the ground made you feel sick, though. You'd have to be very desperate.

The same woman with the dresses came to collect your tray again, and, rolling her eyes and muttering something about stubborn beasts in lady's clothing, dropped another tray on the table. “There's people in this very palace who haven't seen food like this in a long time, my lady, and who would love even a scrap of it.”

“Take it, then. I'm not going to eat anything he sends me. I want to go home.” Even sulkier child. It was a great way to be taken seriously. The woman scoffed and shook her head.

“You're not going anywhere, girl. The prince has made his decision, and you're going to have to learn to live with it.”

Her words were met with a stony silence, and she took her leave, muttering all the while. You didn't even bother to look at the new tray. Your will was stronger than your achingly empty stomach. You went to sleep early that night, earlier even than when you were a child, and you dreamt of him. He stood at the foot of your bed, drinking from a chalice and regarding you thoughtfully. You dreamed that you woke up once and met his eyes, and the dream flickered twice but held. After a moment of silence, you pulled the furs up over your head and went back to sleep.

The second day went much like the first one had, and you found yourself falling into a silent routine with the woman who brought you your trays. By lunch she had stopped trying to make you eat, which was fortunate since your resolve was growing as weak as your body. It wasn't as thought you were doing any hard labor, but the lack of any nutrition whatsoever was giving you dizzy spells. Still, you resisted. You had withstood winter days without food many times before, when the preserves in the cellar ran out and you had nothing to trade for anything else. Inevitably, the dizzy spells would grow more frequent, but the pangs in your belly would subside, and it would be all the easier to carry out this protest.

That night, as you sat in the window ignoring the tray going cold, another visitor burst through the door. Him. You jumped to your feet, but immediately found yourself grasping at the wall for support. The room was spinning.

“I can make you eat.”

You said nothing, just raised your chin. There was not much else to say, after all, and anything that you did say would only get you deeper in trouble. He stalked closer, and you could see that his every muscle was tensed, that his fists were clenched at his sides. You wondered absently if the prince would beat his whores, but then decided that it no longer mattered to you. He was close, and you could feel his breath on your face. “I can tie you up and force it down your throat. I can have my men hold you down and watch.”

“With all respect, my lord, that's what you are going to have to do.” Your voice was laughably weak despite the vehemence in your soul, and your pulse throbbed erratically in your ears. He growled, and his hands shot out towards your face, as though he were planning on slapping you or maybe boxing your ears. At the last minute, though, he cupped your cheeks in his hands. His voice was tight, barely controlled.

“I am trying very hard to keep my temper, and if you have ever heard anything about me at all, you will know how rarely I do such things.” It was true. You raised your eyes to meet his. “Think about this logically, pet. What would happen if Prince Loki of Asgard allowed a guest in his palace to starve to death while even the lowest servants went to bed sated every night?”

“I am not a guest, Your Highness,” you replied. “We both know that I am just a palace whore. I matter to no one.”

There was a long stretch of silence, and then the prince seemed to explode with action. One set of long pale fingers closed themselves around your throat even as he backed you up against the wall. He watched without emotion as you clawed at his grip. Your hands were too weak and starved to do much good at all. “This is the second time you have tried to correct me,” he hissed. “What makes you think you know better than your prince?” His fingers tightened, cutting off not just any reply that you may have dared to make, but also the rest of your airway. “If you want to be a whore, I would be more than happy to oblige.”

The prince loosened his grip just as the edge of your vision were beginning to darken, but rather than leave you alone, he dragged you to the unmade bed and threw you down atop it. His hand moved from your neck to your wrists now, and you realized dimly that he could hold both of your wrists in one of his hands. He did so now, and allowed the other to creep under your skirts. You bucked against him, kicking to free yourself, but he never budged. When he spoke again, his voice burned low in his chest. “I could take you until you're bleeding and ruined. I could bite and bruise every last inch of your pathetic body, torture you and laugh when you scream for help that will not come. I could loan you out to my men and their friends and some stranger at some pub in a village somewhere and watch as they use you and beat you, and I could laugh all the while.” His fingertips pressed against your knickers, but did not fight to slip inside. “Oh, I could make you a palace whore, my dear. Is that what you want from me?”

“No!” You gasped out the word before you could even think. Your face was wet with tears, burning with the shame and embarrassment that his fingers were inspiring in you. “Please. No.” You felt faint, but would not allow yourself to pass into unconsciousness with this man in your room. His hand slipped out from under your skirts, coming now to caress your cheek.

“No, of course it's not.” There was little anger left in his voice now, but that dangerous edge was still glaringly present. “Would you rather I had my way with you gently? I could bind and gag you and rip your purity from you carefully. You would be unable to fight back, so perhaps that would save whatever silly little shreds of pride you still think you have left. I would still be the monster your mummy told you to stay away from, so there would be no shame in secretly enjoying your downfall, would there? I would even be considerate. I would make sure you followed me off the edge of oblivion, make sure you thoroughly enjoyed yourself.” His voice was as gentle as his hand and his breath was warm against your ear. You were sobbing, begging for him to get off of you and leave you alone, but still he didn't move.

“But I won't do that either, pet. Because you are going to come to me. You are going to tell me yes, and then you are going to give yourself to me, and then I am going to reward you accordingly. Oh, you may never grow to love me, but I can assure you that you will grow to love the things that I can do to you, and that will be quite enough. Now look at me.” You had squeezed your eyes shut to try to block out this whole thing, but found yourself opening them immediately. “Ah. Such eyes.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “Go wash your face. Fix your hair. Make yourself presentable. I am going to have the kitchen bring us a warm meal, and we are going to eat it together so that my guest does not waste away before my eyes.” With that, he released your arms and slid off of the bed. In all honesty, you were too exhausted to do anything but obey, so you went into the washroom and splashed cold water onto your face, steeling yourself all the while for dinner with the snake.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo buddy! Would it be a mistake for me to admit that this started out as this secret self-indulgent document hidden in a folder on my desktop and then once it got past 30 pages I decided that I needed to do something else with it and gathered up all my courage to post it online? I mean, you all probably had some idea of that anyway. So...geez. Thank you so much for reading and just generally responding so well to these chapters. I am still writing this and don't plan on stopping for a while--it's just too much fun imagining myself in this big beautiful old castle. Thank you for reading aaaall these words!

By the time you were finished composing yourself and stepped out into the bedchamber again, there was a new assortment of food waiting by the door. True to his word, the prince was there as well. He bowed slightly, and indicated that you were to sit across from him at the small table. Your fears of poison were beginning to fade somewhat, but you were still wary of the food. The prince picked up on your misgivings and took your hand as he sat.

“What can I do to make you more at ease here, my lady?” His voice held no trace of the monster from before, and you ventured a look at his face. He seemed earnest, though of course that was no guarantee of anything. He was a skilled liar.

“Eat from both plates.” When voiced aloud, your suspicions sounded absolutely ridiculous, and your entire face burned with embarrassment. “So I know this is no trick, my lord prince.”

“Very well.” He seemed amused, but did as you asked without hesitation. Only then did you feel confident in taking one of the plates. “Do you fear poison? Or potion?”

It stood to reason that he would be able to see through you so completely. When you spoke, it was more to the food on your plate than to the prince in front of you. “Both, sire.”

He laughed then, and it was not the cold and humorless sound that you had heard from him in the past, but something almost approaching warmth. “I've told you, you will say yes to me of your own free will. Killing you or giving you a potion will only interfere with that. Remember that.”

You ate slowly, and without speaking. It seemed to suit your host just fine, as he made no further attempts at conversation. When you could eat no more, you sat back from the table and tried to fight the drowsiness that had come along with the rich food—and the first time in a long time that your hunger had been truly sated. You could not fall asleep with the prince in the room. It would be rude and it would be stupid, and you were simply not going to do it.

“Your cheeks are flushed a most becoming pink, my lady. It pleases me to see you in better health already.” His voice was soft, non-threatening, and the strangeness of hearing it from Prince Loki, the monster who less than an hour ago threatened to brutally harm you made you look up in surprise. What were you expected to say to such a thing?

“I...” This was absurd. “Thank you, my Lord Prince. The food was wonderful, and I appreciate your presence.”

“Liar.” You jerked your head up as soon as you'd processed his word. At the very least, you told yourself, he did not sound angry or offended. Indeed, when you searched his face you could see that he was smirking at you. “You just blatantly lied to your prince. It doesn't take a fool to see that I make you uncomfortable. Tell me that you would like nothing more than for me to leave you in peace.”

It was true. It would also be suicidal to admit it aloud. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, and saw that he was still smiling at you, with next to no anger in his eyes.

“Sir...you frighten me.”

He accepted your admission with a slight incline of his head. “Naturally. But that will pass as you begin to realize that I mean you no harm.” You wanted desperately to ask what he had meant by his rage earlier then, but held your tongue. Perhaps it was wiser simply to let the matter drop.

But he would not allow it.

“I have a short temper, it is true, and I know that I can be quite cruel, but I have no intentions of hurting you.” He reached across the table to touch the back of your hand. Despite yourself, goosebumps erupted in the wake of his fingers, and you shivered. He did not miss it, of course, and his voice took on a darker quality. “You are mine now, and I do not break my things, or share them.”

Strange, but you would have expected such a declaration to give you even more hopelessness, not a small rush of relief, but your body still relaxed ever so slightly, and you heard yourself laugh. Could it be possible that this bitter, mercurial man could treat you better than the oafs in your village? Anyway, it was true that most married women back home were treated as little more than property—they cared for their children and kept their homes well and submitted to their husbands' basest desires and that was the extent of their lives. It was not as though you had ever had any hope of escaping such a fate—why not appreciate the fact that you belonged to royalty and not some dirty hairy man old enough to be your father? You laughed again, though it was without humor this time.

“Why do you laugh? I want to learn your mind. Will you share it with me?” He was leaning forward on the table, and his eyes were bright with interest. You found yourself blushing again.

“It is not...really very funny, my lord prince. I was just telling myself that ending up here, serving you, is sure to be better than belonging to whatever wretched man my father eventually chose to give me to.” A moment or two passed as you realized how that sounded, and you jerked your head up to meet the prince's gaze. “I am sorry, sire, I hope I have not offended you. I meant nothing by it.”

He took your hand and pressed his lips against it. “I understand. I will forgive you if you tell me about your village. I leave the palace so rarely. What is your family like?”

This was a trick, or else a trap. You studied him for a few moments as you tried to ascertain his goal. What would a prince care about your village or your family? But the expression on his face did not waver as you hesitated, and finally you spoke. “I come from a rather long line of embarrassments, sire. My brother, my father, his father, his father before him... We are not known to be a very successful family.” It stung your pride to be tied to your father's name, but there was no escaping it. “I tried to tell you at the ball, my lord, that there were many other ladies of higher status and who were thus much more worthy of your time, but I'm afraid my words...failed me. I hope that you were able to select at least a few others of better breeding.”

A cloud crossed in front of his face, one you could not understand, but he did not release your hand. “Go on,” he murmured against your skin, and you shivered despite yourself.

“My mother died when I was very small, in childbirth.” Your voice caught in your throat as you remembered the morning your father told you that not only would you have no little sister to play with, but your mother had been taken from you as well. You had not thought about them in years, let alone teared up over them, but maybe it was the homesickness that gripped you now. “So I cared for my father and brother until just a few nights ago, when you brought me here.”

“And has that been your whole life, then?” He asked. His voice sounded strange. Clearly he was beginning to realize what a mistake he had made in choosing you. You were nothing but a clump of dirt from the village wrapped in a beautiful gown, and he had been fooled. All you could do now was hope that he would not resent you for the trickery and do something terrible to your family.

“No...” You shifted in your seat, uncomfortable, casting about for something to show him that you might potentially be worth his time. “I read, sire. I taught myself to read, and enjoy it, whenever I find the time.” There. At the very least, you were not a completely dull and uneducated wretch. “I am not much fun at formal dinners or fancy balls, I'm afraid, but I have that, at least.” His gaze rested heavy on your face, but you refused to meet his eyes. Your cheeks were burning. Surely he had better things to do with his time than sit with you and listen to your stories. At the very least, he had to have other women waiting anxiously for his attention, ready and willing to give him pleasures you could hardly even imagine. But here he sat, completely focused on you as though you were some kind of intriguing puzzle, or a brand new book just waiting to be enjoyed.

“Come over here,” he said finally, and indicated the space next to his chair. “I would like to kiss you.”

Your heart sped up inside your chest, knocking against your insides in a way that made you dizzy. But as your prince had already proven, you were not to disobey him, so you rose on your numb and unsteady limbs and approached him. He remained seated, which made you tower over him in a way that made you uncomfortable, so without thinking about it you sank to your knees.

This was why you were here. This was expected of you. This was going to happen at some point anyway, whether or not he said you were expected to come willingly, because this was your purpose. He threaded his fingers through your hair and you allowed your eyes to flutter closed at the touch. Even with your eyes closed, you could sense him coming closer, leaning forward and bringing his mouth to yours. You tilted your head back slightly, expectantly, but then you feel his cool lips pressing not against your mouth but against your forehead. One hand slid around to the back of your head, holding you in place, and the two of you remained that way for what felt like a very long time, not moving, not speaking. Just touching.

Finally he dragged himself away from you, only to replace his lips with his forehead. You were just beginning to relax when his fingers tightened in your hair. He was gripping the strands, tugging just hard enough to be felt but not enough to cause any pain. A sharp puff of air rushed past your lips, and you tried to keep from fighting him.

“You are perfectly worthy of my time.” His voice was low. “And I will not hear anything to the contrary, am I understood?” You nodded as well as you could without pulling your own hair. “I desire you. I chose you. Even if you do not understand my choices, I expect that you will, at the very least, trust my judgment as your lord and prince. In return, I will make you see why you were chosen.” His touch slackened back into gentle caresses, and he brushed a thumb across your forehead. “Will my lady kiss me now?”

Your poor heart, which had only just begun to settle, began thudding quickly again. It was one thing to think about allowing him to press his kiss upon you, but now to be expected to be the one to kiss him? While the girls around you had been giggling and kissing boys behind buildings, you had been reading. You didn't know how to kiss a man, let alone a prince. But you would not spoil the uneasy agreement between the two of you by refusing his request. You gathered your every last nerve and placed your hands on his knees to steady yourself as you stretched toward his lips. He sat motionless at first, so you couldn't be sure whether you were doing it to his satisfaction, but when his hand came up to brush his fingers along your throat, the action told you that you were doing just fine.

There was no doubt in your mind that he could feel your pulse thrumming against his fingertips, especially when you parted your lips just slightly and ran your tongue along his lower lip. He made a sound, like a growl in the base of his throat, and took control. His tongue pushed its way into your mouth, exploring and dominating without demanding. This was not how you would have expected Prince Loki to kiss a woman, but then again maybe this was only the beginning.

But he stopped, then, and pulled back just far enough to mumble against your lips. “Your heart. Are you frightened still?”

“Please forgive me, my prince. I just have not...” Your face was burning now, and there was no doubt in your mind that you had flushed crimson. Girls in your village were expected to remain pure for heir husbands, of course, but at your age you were expected to at least have done some kissing. Poor prince. Every turn was revealing some new shortcoming, some flaw in your personality.

But he was smiling. He was smiling against your mouth, and kissed you again before bringing the two of you to your feet. He held your body pressed tightly against his own, with one hand at the back of your neck and the other pressed to the small of your back. “I thank you, my lady, for sharing such a moment with me. I would not have minded, of course, if a hundred other men had touched you before me, as you are mine now and that is all that matters, but I must admit that there's a certain thrill in knowing that none have come before me.”

You tried—and failed—to suppress a yawn that was based less on boredom than it was on pure physical exhaustion. As soon as you'd closed your mouth again, you found yourself staring at your prince with pure horror. “Sire! I am sorry! Please, please, my lord prince, forgive my unforgivable rudeness. I did not mean to offend!” Yawning in the face of a royal mere seconds after he reminded you of his intentions to bed you...it may have been the most dangerous thing you'd done all night. Tears sprang unbidden to your eyes, and your mind cast about for some kind of explanation you could offer, but his hands were pulling you closer, pressing your head against his shoulder and—and he was laughing?

“Darling, you have not offended me. I understand. Your body is exhausted. You have not eaten. You have not slept well. My temper is not so short that you should beg forgiveness for having a body and physical needs. Sleep. I will come back again.”

And somehow, despite your racing mind and overworked heart, you slept: immediately and deeply.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is not quite as triggery as the one before, though there is one brief threatening moment. Er, so I guess be warned of that.

When you woke up the next morning, it was to the older servant bringing your breakfast tray. When she saw you sit up, she smirked and it was almost enough to make you refuse to eat once again merely on principle. Although she was aged and careworn like a mother, that was about as far as her motherliness seemed to go. 

“We all heard about the prince’s visit to your chambers,” she said. “Are you finally starting to accept your purpose here?” 

You didn’t answer; it was hardly any of her business either way. She finally shook her head and let it go. “He sent you something. He must like you better than I do. It’s on the tray. Someone’ll be in with your clothes in a bit.”

You got out of bed and went to the tray. Next to the usual array of bread and fruits was a thick book with a worn spine. You couldn’t tear your eyes off of it, even when the younger girl came in to help you dress. When you were finally alone again, you folded yourself into the window seat and began reading. 

It was a story you’d not read before, about a boy who found himself lost and subsequently swept into another boy’s life, only to be discovered and imprisoned years later for treachery. You’d devoured half of it even before someone came with a second tray. You read while you ate, taking advantage of the fact that there was no one here to ridicule you for eating at the table, though you had to be exceedingly careful not to drop anything on the pages. They had so obviously been much treasured. You lost yourself in the lonely world of the book, and didn’t even look up when someone brought a third tray to your room. 

The boy had escaped from prison, and was now lost among strangers, and it did not look as though he would ever find a way home, judging by the fact that only a few pages were left before the end. Indeed, the story ended bleakly, with the boy (now a man) freezing to death on a cliff, and the tears blurred your vision. When you finally finished, you closed the book and stared at the cover as you tried to get your emotions back under control. 

The boy’s situation, at least in prison, was fleetingly similar to yours, of course, but that wasn’t why you felt it so strongly. The boy had spent his whole life cold and alone, and the ending hadn’t even given him the briefest of reprieves. His whole purpose was to suffer, and the world had made sure that it happened.

Finally you wiped your eyes on the hem of your skirt and unfolded yourself from the window. It was only then that you realized you were not alone. Prince Loki stood at the table near your tray, hands clasped behind his back. He was watching you, though you could not tell whether his eyes held amusement or impatience. You drew your hands across your face. Not only had you made him wait, but you were almost certainly red-faced and puffy from crying—completely inappropriate for an audience with the prince.

“Please forgive me, sir,” you gasped, trying now to smooth your hair. “I didn’t know you were here. I would never have ignored you or made you wait if I had known. Sire…did I make you wait very long?”

“I am a prince, pet,” Loki said patiently and indicated that, as before, you were to take the seat across from him. “No one can make me do anything. I enjoyed watching you read. You show all of your emotions on your face. You’re not afraid.” He paused, watching you. “Did you like the book?”

“I did, sire,” you answered, shyly. It was not often that you were able to discuss your books with anybody. Often you had dreamed of finding someone to talk to about them, but you were still so unsure of this man. “But…it was so sad.”

He reached across the table to touch your face gently. When he pulled his fingers away, they came back wet with tears you had missed. “So I see. I have never found it quite sad enough to cry over. Why did you cry?”

Was he teasing you? If your father or brother had seen you, they would have been merciless. But he seemed interested, actually awaiting your answer. His eyes were fixed unblinking on your face—they should have been serpentine, unnerving, but somehow they did not bother you as much as perhaps they should have. 

“The man, sire…the character in the story?” How did he not see it? “He spends his whole life miserable and alone among strangers. No one will accept him.”

“My lady, he impersonated one of the members of the divine family, and tricked many of the court officials into countless evil deeds. He was a villain.” His face was bewildered, but something told you that it was mere contrivance.

In any case, that part of the story had not escaped you. “I did not read him that way. He believed he was doing what was right for his people. I saw him as misguided, perhaps, at worst disillusioned, but not willfully evil.” But you kept your voice soft, unobtrusive. You weren’t certain whether this sort of discussion would be well-received. Did people do this? Talk about literature in such ways? More importantly: would your arguments anger him?

But a secret smile made its way across his face. “That is what I have tried to tell my brother for my entire life, but he will not listen. I am glad to find someone who understands.”

A peculiar warmth flooded through you then, something you would never have imagined could have come from this prince. Without thinking about it, you reached out to touch his hand where it rested on the table. He did not move, and you had to fight the growing horror that rose within you. You had touched a prince without permission. That was…it was incredibly presumptuous, not to mention dangerous. But then again, maybe it was expected in your position? Maybe the rules were different for you, just slightly.

“Gentle heart,” his voice was quiet, as though perhaps he had been talking to himself. His other hand covered yours, swallowing it up in his cool touch. “You read quickly, to have finished that book so quickly. Or did you merely skim the pages?”

“No, sire, I read it all in its entirety!” You responded immediately, almost indignantly, before you saw the teasing smile in his eyes. Of course. “I had to learn to read very quickly at home. Reading was…not approved of, so I had to do it in secret.” Whenever your father caught you reading instead of doing something more profitable for him, you’d catch a beating.

“The more I learn about your home, the more miraculous you become,” he mused. “You could so easily have become another cheap, dull wench from the village, but here you are.”

You opened your mouth to deny his assertion, to insist that you were really nothing at all, but you remembered his outburst from the night before and held your tongue. “You…flatter me greatly, my lord prince.” Your cheeks were burning and you had to avert your eyes.

“You are my guest here. It sounds absurd for you to address me so formally all the time.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and sat back in his chair. “You may call me simply Loki, if you wish. After all, we will become intimate, and what do you expect to call me in your throes of passion? Sire? My lord? They are all perfectly acceptable, pet, but they are also a bit of a mouthful.” His smile held traces of his trademark mischief now, and your cheeks burned even hotter than before. He was not wrong, of course, but it was still a thought that gave you some trouble.

“Loki.” It felt strange on your tongue: foreign. You stole a glance at your prince to see if he had reacted, and saw that he was still smirking. “It will take some getting used to, my lor—Loki, but I will do my best.”

“’My Loki’, she says,” he teased. “I will admit that I like the sound of that as well.”

“If you don’t mind, sire, I should prefer to take things one step at a time.”

He laughed then, loud and long and genuinely, but finally nodded his agreement. You finished eating, then, and he asked you questions about your family and village and childhood. On the rare occasions when you summoned enough courage to ask him questions in return, he was relatively open and shared more than you asked, or even had a right to expect. This was not the man you had imagined at all. When you accidentally let it slip that you grew restless, cooped up in a single room all day and all night, instead of getting angry as he could have—should have—done, he leapt to his feet and pulled you up as well.

“Come, my lady. I will take you on a tour of your home. I should have done this last night, but I feared you were too weak for such a journey.”

The palace seemed even larger on the inside than the outside. It was a good thing you had not tried to escape that first night—you could easily have gotten hopelessly lost and never found your way back to the room, let alone to an exit. The prince did not let go of your hand even when servants passed you and whispered. If anything, you could feel his grip tighten during these interactions. It was surprisingly reassuring and allowed you to walk past them with your head held high, as he did.

You ended up in the garden, and as soon as the night air kissed your skin you felt like crying with happiness. When you had finished drinking it all in—the heady perfume of the night flowers blooming in the moonlight, the cool enchanted breeze that kissed your skin and lifted your hair off of the back of your neck, the lights twinkling in the tops of the trees and in the flowerbeds—you looked over at Loki. He was standing there looking thoughtful with his arms crossed in front of him. Maybe it was the night intoxicating your senses, or the lights that caught his hair, or the small lines pulling at the corners of his mouth, but you approached him shyly and, before you could lose your nerve, stood up on your tiptoes to kiss him. His reaction was not the calm and even one from the night before. Instead, his arms wrapped tightly around you and he backed you up against the trunk of a tall tree. It was he who deepened the kiss tonight, probing expertly. Expectantly.

Apparently satisfied that you were securely pressed between the solid trunk and his own long, lean body, Loki allowed his hands to roam your body. You squirmed ticklishly when he caressed the valleys of your waist on the way to grip your hips, but managed to keep from laughing into his mouth. His hands moved back up to cup your breasts through the bodice of your gown. This was new and, frankly, a bit intimidating, but you did not feel the urge to freeze under his touch as you had before. Instead, you pressed forward, against him and into his hands.

Someone clearing their throat softly behind you saved you from any further nerves. Loki, on the other hand, growled with frustration, and the sound resonated throughout your entire body. He pulled away and turned to give your visitor a level glare. As soon as your eyes made out the form in front of you, you stood up straighter than you ever had before and lowered your eyes. Loki was nonplussed.

“Your Highness,” you mumbled, and sank into a deep curtsy.

“Hello, child.” It sounded as though she was smiling, but how could you be certain. You couldn’t decide whether to apologize fiercely to your queen for such behavior or defer to your prince. He was standing there carefree and unabashed, so perhaps you would not be reprimanded. “Are you enjoying my gardens?”

“We are, Mother,” Loki replied.

“Good.” She was still smiling, probably, and slowly you felt yourself start to relax. You remained bolt upright, of course, and you still did not look at her, but your heart rate gradually returned to something more closely approaching normal. Now you felt only embarrassment that the Queen had seen you in such a position. But then, she’d known at the ball that it was inevitable, had she not?

“Child.” She was addressing you again, and you fell into another curtsy at the sound of her voice. “Do not permit my son to keep you too long from sleep. A lady needs her rest.”

“Yes, your Highness,” you managed. “Thank you most sincerely for your kindness, my Queen.”

Though you were not looking, you felt a Look pass between the prince and his mother, and then, with a grand swishing of her skirts, she swept away. Loki turned back to you and pressed his lips to the base of your throat where your pulse still thrummed. “Your heart is racing, pet. Do you fear my mother?”

“She is the Queen.” Was the answer not obvious?

“She is your host as well.”

“Is she so kind to all of your ladies?” You had heard of her kindness, of course, but it seemed to you that a queen would have better things to do than inquire after the rest and well-being of a palace whore.

Loki pulled away and looked at you. His eyes searched yours. “You’ve mentioned these women before. Just how many others do you presume I keep?”

This was strange. You fought to find the proper words. “I mean no offense, my lord. I just… I thought… I don’t know, but was the ball not meant for selecting several…ah…sire, forgive me, but companions?” Wasn’t that how it had always been? You searched your memory to try to find out where you might have been led astray, but found nothing. Your face was burning again, and the prince let out a cold laugh, sharp in the nighttime air.

“Do you think I would take many like you, with such disdain for me? Do you think I have the patience to wait for other women to warm their hearts toward me?”

“I am sorry, my lord prince, but I thought…there were many girls in attendance who were willing…who…you would not have had to wait for.” Your voice grew softer and softer as you tried not to further anger him.

“They are cheap!” He spat, and began to pace in front of you. “Every last one of them, lusting after a man they know only through village gossip and none of them with sense enough to fear me.” He whirled to face you again. “If you had suffered my kiss on the ballroom floor, I would have had to send you back to your boorish family, but you, you of all those slags that night had the audacity and the wisdom to fear me.”

“And now you are determined to break my will.” The words came unbidden, and you clasped your hands over your treasonous mouth even as you watched your prince’s eyes turn to stone. You sank to your knees. “Please, my lord prince. I spoke without thinking. I beg you most humbly, please forgive me.” Or kill me swiftly, you added to yourself.

“I could break you.” His voice was cool and dangerous once more. You heard him approach you, and then his hands were fisted in your hair as he pressed your face against his trousers. You clenched your eyes tightly but would not cry out. “If I desired. There is not a soul in all of Asgard who would come to your aid even if your most piteous screams filled the skies.” He turned your face to one side now and tilted your head back sharply so that you were looking up at him. “But I have already told you that I prefer not to break my things.” His talons softened again into fingertips and he loosened his grip on your hair so that he was caressing you once more. “And you will come to me of your own accord. It will mean nothing if you come under duress.” He continued to pet you and gazed down at your face. He was unfathomable at best, especially here in the darkness. “And I do believe I asked you to cease the ‘my lord prince’ nonsense.”

“Yes, Loki.” You could not tear your eyes from his face even as he lifted you to your feet once more. “I did not intend to hurt you…”

“You could not hurt me, pet. I could do far worse things to you than your gentle heart could even fathom, and you are worried about hurting me.” But he was smiling again, and you gathered your nerve to tilt your head forward to kiss him lightly. He was dangerous and ever-changing, but you could not deny his charm. His hands cupped your cheeks and he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Come. Mother would not be pleased if I kept you out all night.”

He took your hand and led you back into the palace, and then up to your quarters although he made no move to come inside. Instead, he lifted your hand to his mouth to allow his breath to ghost over your knuckles. “Goodnight, my lady. I may return tomorrow if my duties permit. If not, perhaps we will meet in your dreams tonight.” With another smirk and a wink, he was gone.

Strangely enough, you did dream of the prince. You were in the garden again, pinned against a tree as his hands roamed along your body. Your heart was in your throat, and though you knew he had said he would wait for your consent, you feared that he would grow impatient and take you by force. But he did not. His touch did become rougher and rougher, however, until it seemed like he was ripping away at your skin with each caress. You opened your mouth to protest, but no sound could come out. All you could do was stand there passively as the prince took bite after bite from your flesh. He was going to eat you alive, and there was nothing you could do about it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops! I'm still around, even though I haven't been posting as regularly. Your comments and kudos (kudoses?) and hits make me so happy. I'm glad you're all still reading, because I'm definitely still writing. :)

Just when you feared you would be trapped in the dream with the monster forever, you opened your eyes and saw the younger servant girl kneeling above you. She looked worried. 

“Are you homesick, my lady?” she whispered, and slid off of your bed. “Forgive me for being so forward, miss, but you were crying, and I couldn’t wake you. Are you hurt? I can get you a doctor.”

“No…that won’t be necessary, but thank you. Very much.” You sat up slowly. You just needed to wake up, that was all, and remember where you were in the present. You were not in the garden. “It was just a bad dream. I’ll be just fine.” You smiled sheepishly at her, and she patted your leg through the blankets. 

“It’s the palace what does it, all old and drafty. I had bad dreams when I first got here too. They’ll go away.”

That was startling. You’d assumed that, because she was so young, she’d simply been born here to a servant or something like that. You studied her face, wishing you could find her story printed there. She caught you looking but merely grinned. “Your breakfast is getting cold. They said you weren’t waking, so I was to come in and try.” Now she was looking almost wistfully at the tray, and you remembered what you’d been told: there were people in the palace who hadn’t had food like that in a long time, and you wondered if she was one of those people.

“There sure is a lot of food there,” you said thoughtfully, and watched her out of the corner of your eyes. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to eat it all.” She glanced at your hopefully, but just as quickly, her gaze skittered away. “Do you think you could help me?”

She stood quickly, with her arms clasped behind her back. “I really shouldn’t, m’lady. We could get in trouble.”

“Suit yourself then,” you said gently. You sank your teeth into a piece of cool, sweet fruit and pretended to ignore her in favor of the juice running down your chin. She wavered and finally sat herself in the chair across from you.

“Take anything you’d like. There’s enough of everything for both of us. I think perhaps the royal cooks aren’t used to preparing food for simple tastes like ours.”

She did. She ate ravenously, telling you that they got porridge every morning, but it was never quite enough, and it didn’t satisfy the way other food could. She thanked you over and over, even after you’d both sat back with full bellies. It was nice, having company that didn’t terrify you at times, and this girl, like Sigg at the ball, felt almost like a little sister. The one you had been denied. It was only then that she leaped out of her chair.

“I’ve stayed too long, Miss!” she said, and hastily swiped her hand across her mouth. “I’ve other duties! I can’t get behind. I’m sorry to run, but I have to!” She left, and her absence made you feel your homesickness and loneliness that much more keenly. It was ridiculous, that you should find yourself longing for the company of the man who took you from your home, but you would even submit to his moods if it meant he would also provide you with conversation. You curled up in the window once more. This must be his plan, you told yourself: to starve you for contact with others so that you would become more…amenable. 

It wouldn’t work. You would grit your teeth and accept your solitude, and he would not win. Anyway, you could really go for days without speaking to another person, especially when you told yourself that the alternative would be speaking with your father, and you’d only been alone for less than an hour. This was nothing. Briefly, you considered rereading the book you’d been given, but you were not really in the mood to cry again. So you sat, wondering what was happening at home, or with Sigg, or with any of the girls who had been excited to attend the ball. What happened when they returned? Were their families relieved to see them safely home again, or would they be upset about the lack of payment?

Loki did not come to you that evening, and it was surprisingly easy to tell yourself that you were not disappointed. He was not going to become your whole life, even if you had no real life outside of your quarters.

You slept fitfully, though without nightmares, which led you to count it a successful night. The next morning, as before, the girl with the dresses lingered just long enough to wolf down her share of your breakfast, and you were glad to see that already her cheeks held more color. When she left, she thanked you profusely and even bobbed a quick curtsy. You couldn't help but feel uncomfortable about her gesture: the two of you weren't really so far removed in status.

Shortly after breakfast, someone else came to your door. They knocked, which of course was ridiculous since your door had always been locked from the outside, and slowly it swung open. Another servant, closer to your own age than either of the others you had met, stepped inside and smiled kindly.

“I was told to escort you to the library, my lady,” she said. “His lord the prince sends his regrets, but his business shall keep him from you another day longer. He does not with you to grow restless in his absence.”

You slid to your feet. “Oh—I…no, it’s no trouble…”

“If you’ll just come with me, my lady. It is a wonderful library.” Her tone, though friendly, was brusque and did not invite discussion.

Rather than continue to argue, you nodded and followed her as she led you through the corridors. You committed the path to memory as best as you could, so that you might be able to find your way back on your own if necessary. In any case, you didn't want to remain so dependent on the inhabitants of the palace for the entire duration of your stay.

The girl stopped in front of a set of heavy double doors and threw them open. You had to catch your breath. The room alone was easily five times the size of your father’s house, and the walls were filled, floor-to-ceiling, with shelves of books. There were freestanding shelves besides, rows and rows of them punctuated with tables and plush chairs and cushions alike. A fireplace burned cheerfully at one end of the room and made you realize for the first time since your arrival that the palace was indeed rather cold and drafty. You looked at the girl who had brought you to this beautiful place, aching to thank her, but the words stuck in your throat. She was smiling again.

Finally you found your voice. “Thank you.” It sounded rough, overcome as you were with emotion.

“Do not thank me, my lady. I am only following orders.” But her cheeks flushed a lovely pink. “Would you prefer to be left here alone, my lady, or will you require my further company?”

You were almost too distracted by the dizzying display of books to realize what she had said, but when her words clicked in your mind, you turned to look at her again. “I would not wish to keep you from other duties or get you into trouble, but I…” You laughed at yourself and lowered your eyes. “I have not had much contact with other people, and so would very much enjoy your company.”

“Of course, my lady.” She seemed relieved. “I have been placed in your service for all of today, so anything you require, I will take care of.”

“In that case…” You looked around the room again. You had never seen so many books in one place—it was hard to even imagine that so many books could exist in the first place. “What is your favorite book? Where shall I start?”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “Apologies, miss, but the last time I had any time to read, I was very young. I have lived here my whole life, and duties are assigned as soon as the children are useful. I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

It took a few moments for you to wrap your mind around the fact that this girl’s life had been so full of toil and drudgery that she had not even had time to escape into the world of books. Even with your father being who he was, you’d managed to find a few minutes here and there to sneak up a tree or into the cellar with a book. She did not look dirty or haggard or ill-used, but you’d always felt that there was something missing from a life without books. 

“Then I am very glad you have been asked to stay with me, because now you have all of the rest of the day to catch up on all the books you’ve missed out on.” You smiled widely at her, and she made an attempt to return the expression, but something seemed to fall flat. “Please, you should choose anything you wish to read. I am sure Prince Loki would want you to.” 

You wandered through the stacks, and tried to get a feel for the titles contained therein. As your eyes skimmed the spines, they fell on many names that were familiar to you from your childhood, but you skipped over them. The words might refresh your homesickness, after all, and you wished to avoid that. Finally, you chose a book with a spine even more worn than the book that the prince had given you, and sank into one of the chairs near the fireplace. You could hear the servant girl moving through the room, and not long after you sat down, she joined you. You noticed, however, that she did not actually appear to be reading much of anything—she rarely turned a page, but seemed to stare at the words before her for a long time. 

With a pang, and then a jolt of frustration at your own obliviousness, you realized that servants would probably not have been given much of an education beyond what was necessary for their service. Even in a palace run by a benevolent queen, it was unlikely that servants would be taught to read much literature. But you didn’t know how to approach the topic. On the one hand, perhaps the girl didn’t mind merely sitting in a warm, quiet room full of fragrant books, but you still felt it wrong that she had no access to the words. The problem remained, however: how could you possibly ask her to confirm your suspicions without embarrassing her?

Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), she looked up just then, and caught you staring at her. Her face blushed a deep scarlet, and she looked away again. “I am sorry, miss. I led you astray, perhaps. I cannot read very well.”

Aha. “No, no,” you replied quickly. “I’m sorry for not realizing sooner. How stupid of me!” Before she could protest, you jumped out of the chair and returned to the stacks, this time searching for something more suitable for reading aloud. Your eyes fell on a familiar-looking spine, and you pulled it from the shelves. It was a book you had read late in your childhood, not long before your father made you start wearing dresses instead of trousers in order to attract attention from would-be suitors. It was some kind of silly fantasy, with animals that talked and performed magic tricks on occasion, but you remembered liking it quite a bit. You returned to where you’d originally been standing. The servant girl was still sitting where you’d left her—she hadn’t moved an inch, except to track your movements, apparently. You held up the book, feeling giddy.

“We can read this one together,” you explained. “It’s interesting, but not too difficult. It’s a good one to practice with. Come to one of these tables so you can see better.”

She struggled for a moment, perhaps trying to decide if it was appropriate for her to continue to protest, but she did finally rise to her feet and join you. You spent the afternoon poring over the book together, and although you were never a very good teacher, your student was a fast learner and by the time the skies outside the library windows were growing dark, she was reading entire pages on her own, with growing confidence. The two of you finished the book together, and as you closed the cover, she stifled a yawn. 

“It’s getting late, isn’t it? I should go back to my room.” She was not the only one growing tired, after all. You placed the books back on the shelves from which they had come. You would have liked to have kept the first book to read in your room later that night, but you did not wish to take advantage of the kindness that had granted you access to this library in the first place. “Thank you very much for your company today.” You curtsied slightly as the two of you rose to your feet, and she seemed taken aback as she returned the gesture.

“No, my lady, thank you. Words cannot express how grateful I am for what you’ve done today.” The way she was speaking, it was as though she thought you had performed some great miracle for her, when really you were being self-serving at best. She was good company. You couldn’t help but wonder how she was treated by other residents in the palace: if she was dismissed and ignored, or if anyone had ever shown her any real kindness. That was one question you knew you could not ask.

When you returned to your quarters, supper was waiting for you, the food once again steaming merrily on the tray. As you ate, you were pleased to note that your day of companionship had refreshed your mind, as it were, and now you were able to take pleasure in your solitude. Even when you stretched out in the cool sheets of your bed, you found yourself smiling and drinking in the strange peace that surrounded you.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: here there be smut. If you've been reading up to this point, you'll know that the relationship in this story is not entirely non-problematic, but there is no overt force or threat of physical violence in this smut, so it should be fairly safe unless you're triggered and/or bothered by imbalances of power. And that's totally valid, so...if that's a problem, and you want or need to skip this chapter, message me and I can send you a version with the smutty parts cut out so you don't miss out on any development or something like that. 
> 
> Secondly: this is getting tougher and tougher to write! You know how thoroughly defeated you can feel when your most updated version of a very large document gets completely erased by your computer's black magic? I do. I had several pages of the next chapter written, but they've magically disappeared, and I get so tempted to quit. But then I don't *really* want to quit because I enjoy writing this, but...man, it's just...ugh, you know? Promise, I'm not begging for kudos or comments: just offering an explanation as to why these updates are getting more and more sporadic. *drops head back onto desk*

There were no nightmares that night, either, though your dreams were only slightly less unsettling. You dreamed of long elegant fingers tracing patterns against the skin of your belly, dipping lower between your thighs and making you arch desperately into the touch. His mouth pressed soft kisses to your skin, interspersed with gentle, knowing bites as his teeth tugged at tender flesh. This was certainly the antithesis to the nightmare you’d had the night before, and when the morning light spilling through your bedroom windows, you rose from your bed reluctantly.

No one had arrived with either clothes or breakfast, but it hardly mattered. You bathed on your own and though you struggled a bit with the content of your dream (or, perhaps more specifically, the central character therein), the hot water in the tub relaxed and cleansed you. Mere days ago, you would have deemed such a thing unthinkable, even abhorrent in your situation, but in the privacy of your bathroom and the afterglow of the dream, it was quite easy to slip back into the world of the dream.

When you re-entered your sleeping quarters, it was not the young kitchen girl who greeted you, but the older woman. She indicated a green silken tunic and trousers laid out on the bed. “No gown for the lady-beast today,” she said, and you tried your best not to roll your eyes. “The prince wishes to take you riding, so eat quickly and then dress before he gets here. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting, you know.”

You very nearly spoke up to contradict her, to tell her that he didn’t seem to mind waiting for you in particular, but decided it was best to just leave it alone. She already didn’t seem to care much for you, and you didn’t want word of your attitude making its way around the castle or something like that. Surely the Queen would not like to hear that one of her guests—especially one of your position—was being haughty to a servant already. So you ate, and then worked your hair into braids to keep it from getting in the way while riding. You’d never been riding before, and thus wanted as few distractions or complications as possible.

Not long after you’d finished getting ready, someone rapped lightly on your door, and then entered. You were less than surprised to see the prince, groomed and dressed well but looking exhausted—and incredibly beat-up. Barely-healed scrapes and cuts marred the pale skin of his face, and a dark bruise peeked out from his collar. You stood frozen. Part of you wanted to go to him and study the wounds on his face, but you were still…unsure of him. He saw you looking at him and offered a smile that, though tentative, lit up his eyes nonetheless.

“It’s nothing, pet,” he said, and gestured towards his face. “My brother and I merely ran into some rough company on our way back to the palace last night. You can rest assured that they have been caught and appropriately punished.” He went to you and took your hand to raise it to his lips. When your eyes met, it sent a thrill rushing through your entire body. There was a knowing look in his eyes, like he could see what you had dreamed about, but of course that was ridiculous. And if his touch seemed to linger…well, that was certainly just your imagination.

“Thank you for having me shown to the library,” you said in a rush. Anything to keep from acknowledging that smirk. “Sire, it was breathtaking.”

“My only regret is that I could not watch your face as you took it all in. Perhaps another time.” Loki lowered but did not release your hand. “Are you ready? Our horses are being prepared in the stables.”

He led you through the castle and out onto the grounds, and soon you were standing next to two beautiful (though very large) horses. He swung easily into his saddle, but you were left standing awkwardly next to your own creature. In theory, it was easy to get into the saddle—lift a foot into the stirrup and then swing your leg over. You’d seen it done a million times in town, but the horses had never seemed so tall there. You did not have to look at your prince to know that he was looking at you with some mixture of amusement and impatience. Your face was burning as you struggled with one stirrup. The horse gave an indignant snort and began to shuffle away from you, which of course threw you off balance.

“I have never ridden,” you offered, more to the horse than the prince. You heard Loki guide his own horse over to you, and before you could breathe a word, one strong arm was wrapped around your waist as he scooped you up onto his own horse. You yelped with surprise, but he had already seated you securely in front of him by the time the fear could really set in.

“I will not let you fall, my lady,” he breathed into your ear, and there was no way that he missed the shudder that traveled through your body. After a little more adjusting, he ordered the horse into a gentle trot. He kept one arm wrapped around your waist as you rode, but you could not release your grip on the horse’s mane. The feeling of the horse’s muscles rippling beneath you was exhilarating, and the speed at which you were moving made you laugh with excitement. Behind you, Loki pressed his nose to your hair just above your ear, and you heard him breathe deeply. Another unmistakable shiver.

He shifted the reins, and then moved his hand from your waist to trace a line down your wrist and to your fingers, which were still knotted painfully in the horse’s mane. You felt him pressing something against your hand—the reins—and allowed him to slip them between your fingers. Once he was sure of your grip, he moved his other arm to wrap around your waist as well, leaving you holding the thin strips of leather that were expected to control the large, strong creature beneath the two of you.

“You are riding, my lady,” Loki whispered, and his breath was hot against your ear. He was holding your waist tightly—more tightly, probably, than was necessary to keep either of you sitting astride the beast—but, strangely enough, you did not mind. You even felt yourself relaxing against his body: not too much, of course, but enough that you were able to fit yourself against his chest. “How does it feel?”

‘Frightening’ was your first thought, but you held your tongue. This was clearly something that he enjoyed, and you didn’t want to look as though you were afraid of everything. Growing up, you had had relatively few fears: you’d never been the type to scream or faint even at the sight of the small venemous things that skittered through the streets. So you thought for a moment, and found the answer bubbling up in your chest like laughter. “Brilliant.” You found yourself laughing even as he sank his teeth lightly into the exposed skin of your neck.

After a little while longer, he took control of the horse once again, but only to bring it to a stop. He slid off and helped you to the ground. You were far from the castle, or so it seemed. The landscape was wildly different from the rolling glittery hills that had surrounded your village. It was dry and dusty, and large rocks and cliffs were everywhere. And yet there was a desolate beauty to be found in the stones and the dirt, and you couldn’t stop looking around you.

Finally, Loki pulled you to the ground, where you realized that he had laid out a blanket. He crouched there, watching you with a predatory grin on his face. “My lady, you look almost peaked.” His voice held some level of concern, but…that look in his eyes was too knowing. “Have you been sleeping well?”

You sat down beside him without being prompted, and welcomed the movement as it allowed you to hide your face from him. Because despite rumors that the royal blood had been blessed long ago by some mystical crone, your prince was certainly only human, right? He had no more way of knowing your dreams than you had of knowing his mind. But when you were settled, he closed cool fingers around your chin and pulled your face up so that you were looking into his eyes. He expected an answer.

“I have, my lord. Thank you for your concern. My bed is most comfortable, and I sleep very well. Perhaps it is just from the excitement of riding.”

“Perhaps.” He brushed his fingers along your cheekbone, and then allowed them to drop to the blanket once more. As you sat, fighting to maintain the appropriately perfect posture, the prince stretched out onto his back, arms spread wide under the sun. He breathed deeply and, when you looked behind you, you could see that his eyes were closed. “My lady, is this not the most glorious place you have ever seen? Much better than that dank old castle.”

You were stuck. You would not disagree with him, of course, but to agree with him would be to insult his parents’ home. And, of course, remaining silent was no option either: he would expect some sort of response. Sure enough, as you sat struggling to find a suitable answer, he cracked one eye open to look at you.

“Pet?” His voice was gentle. “Are you quite alright?”

“I am so very sorry, sire,” you mumbled. “I guess I must be more tired than I thought. I mean no disrespect.”

“Lie here with me, then.” It was not a request. Though his voice was soft and seemed to demand nothing from you, you knew this was not to be denied. So, uncomfortably, you stretched out on your side with your head propped on one hand. Loki smiled at you, and his hand came to rest in the curve of your waist. “Is that better?”

“Yes, sire.” It was not quite a lie.

He spread his fingers, and through the silk of your top you could feel the coolness of his skin. Neither of you said a word as he slipped his hand beneath the fabric, trailing his fingertips up past your belly. You flinched once, just barely, as he traced a line against the skin just under your breasts, but made no move to stop him. He was a confusing man: resisting him made him angry, but apparently not resisting him, like the girls at the ball, would make him think you cheap. His eyes, sharp but not cold, sought yours, and you tried to plead with him with your own.

“What frightens you?” he asked. His fingers stilled but remained pressed against you. “Are you afraid of being seen? I assure you, there is no one around for miles.” A wry grin. “Besides, I will not take this as far as perhaps you fear. You will come to me, remember?”

“Yes, my lord.” He narrowed his eyes at you before you could lower yours, and you corrected yourself. “Yes, Loki. I remember.”

“What, then?” He rolled to face you, head propped in a similar manner to yours.

You had no answer to offer him. You would flinch from any man’s touch in so intimate a location, prince or no. It wasn’t…appropriate. Ah, but you’re wrong, you reminded yourself. This is your position now. It has become appropriate. “Will you think me cheap?”

Your voice was small, pathetic and almost lost in the wide open space that surrounded you, but it did reach your prince’s ears because he laughed and moved forward to take your lips. “No, darling. I know you are not.” His hand moved again, and this time he cupped your breast in his palm. Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed against your nipple, and you watched the corner of his mouth quirk again.

He pulled away, but only long enough to sit up and press your shoulders down against the blanket, at which point he returned it to its place beneath your top. You couldn’t hold back your gasp when he tweaked your nipple between his fingers, and he lowered his lips to yours. “I am no monster, darling, though I do hunger.” His voice was rough, but there was something beneath it that sounded almost like desperation. Strange. Exceedingly strange. “Allow me to show you.”

What could you deny this man, the royal prince who had shown the greatest concern for your comfort and pleasures? You drew in a shaky breath and nodded, and your eyes slipped closed as he resumed kissing you. But this was more than a kiss. He was threatening to devour you, exploring your mouth fiercely with lips and tongue and teeth sunk into your lower lip. You almost didn’t notice when his hand moved from your breast to press against your belly, then dip beneath the waist of your trousers, but there was no mistaking the cool touch of his fingers as they slipped between your legs to part you.

You pulled away from his kiss and met his eyes, which were dark as he stared intently at you. He held your gaze—you could not look away—as one elegant finger sought, then entered, and you had to fight to keep from pressing your thighs together. You were unsure whether you wanted to force him out or hold him tightly in place. Apparently, he saw the struggle in your face, because he smiled again as he started to pull back only to re-enter. Your lips parted, and almost despite yourself, your hips began to move with his rhythm.

“You’ll find that I am not so bad, am I?” He murmured and dipped his mouth to the base of your throat. His thumb brushed against that bundle of nerves above your entrance, then drew circles around it, and your hands fisted in the blanket. His pace was tortuously slow, building tension in your muscles and making you crave release. Almost with a mind of its own, one of your hands released the blanket and sought purchase elsewhere—and landed on the rough material that covered the prince’s chest.

“Please,” you whimpered. “Prince, please don’t stop…”

“Say my name,” he hissed. “Beg me, darling, and I’ll let you come.”

You cheeks were burning with embarrassment, with desire, but thankfully, not with shame. He slipped an additional finger inside you and you heard him chuckle when you forced back a moan, but just barely. “Loki.” Your voice betrayed your desperation, as though your body could ever hope to hide it. “Please, Loki. Please, my prince, don’t stop.”

“Ask for it, love,” his breath was hot against your ear. You searched his face for clues as to what he wanted from you, but your mind was too hazy to process it properly.

“Let me come, sire,” you gasped. “Loki, please—” It was all you had to say. He increased his pace only slightly, just enough to send you over the edge. You strained against him as the pleasure rushed through you, your eyes clenched tightly. You spoke without thinking, without meaning to, and your voice was keening and desperate: “Yes, please, yes yes, Loki, yes…”

When your body returned to normal, the prince only stopped moving: he did not pull away from you. Slowly you opened your eyes against the brightness of the day and found that he was still looking at you. His mouth was parted slightly, lips curled into a small smile, and when he saw you looking, he kissed your forehead lightly. “You should have seen yourself, pet,” he said against your mouth. “You are glorious when you’re coming.”

Now he pulled away, and you felt curiously empty when he did. He pressed his fingers to your lips and you did not need to be ordered to open your mouth or wrap your tongue around them to clean yourself off of him. Still, oddly enough, you felt only a little shame—even when his eyes widened at first with surprise and he sipped once more from your mouth, tasting you as well.

“Thank you, my lord,” you finally managed. Your body still felt as though you were glowing, warm and luxurious and surrounded by light and heat. It dissipated, but only slightly, when you found yourself pondering whether you should reciprocate. He would expect it, would he not?

But he just stretched out on the blanket once again, one arm flung over his eyes and the other trailing down your body to find your hand. He did not, however, pull your hand to touch the bulge you could see in his trousers. He was just holding you. You sat up, and your heart was thudding wildly in your chest and your ears, but you pressed your free hand against his arousal anyway.

This had clearly not been expected of you. Loki moved his arm from his eyes to examine you, and the first, confused expression on his face melted into surprised appreciation. You did not move, looking instead for permission in his eyes. Better to appear overly cautious than risk being punished for being too forward. When he nodded, you drew in a deep breath and allowed your fingers to delve beneath his trousers and wrap immediately around the shaft you found therein. His breath escaped his lips in a fierce hiss, but he did not move either to stop you or speed you along.

You had little experience with manhood, but you could tell that he was thick—and hard. Calling upon all the giggly stories you’d heard from the girls in your village, you began to pump, slowly. You watched his face carefully for any sign that you were doing it wrong: hurting him or just being ridiculous in general, but he seemed…pleased. After some time, he lifted his hips and tugged his trousers down just far enough to free his erection. It was just as pale and intimidating in the light as the rest of his body was, and you paused for long enough that he closed his fingers around your hand and opened his eyes to meet yours. They were even darker now than they’d been before when he was watching you.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “You’re doing fine.”

So you didn’t stop. You continued to touch him even after he let his hand fall back to the blanket. His breathing grew shallower, sharper, and soon he was thrusting up against your hand, his fingers clenched once again around yours. He was coming, you realized, and your cheeks grew hot despite the fact that that had been your express intention. A thick milky fluid shot from the bulbous head of his cock at first, and then dripped down its length and along your fingers. For a long time, he said nothing, and remained motionless but for the heaving of his chest. But finally he pulled your hand away with a groan, and met your eyes.

“Taste it.”

That was not what you had been expecting to hear and, quite frankly, it was more than a little alarming.

“Sire?”

He grasped your wrist and held your fingers to your lips. “Taste it.”

You were reluctant, but still you couldn’t deny him this. Your tongue slipped out from between your lips to taste your prince, and tried (unsuccessfully) to keep your distaste from showing on your face. It was bitter and salty at the same time: not entirely pleasant, but somehow not completely offensive either. Loki caught your expression and chuckled, then pressed you back against the blanket to kiss you deeply.

“I was not expecting that, you know,” he said. “But it was very good, all the same.”

“Thank you, my… Loki.” Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t keep yourself from smiling with something approaching pride. It could not have been particularly spectacular for him: he was a man with a certain reputation and you were a girl who had never even been kissed until only a day or two ago, but perhaps that was the express reason for your pride. You, with all your inexperience and uncertainty, had guided him to orgasm mostly on your own.

“Thank you, my pet,” he replied with a teasing note in his voice. His fingers tangled in your hair and he moved his mouth to your neck once again. It was difficult to wrap your mind around this new development in your…relationship, though you knew it’d only been a matter of time. If today was any indication, your prince would likely be kind, though demanding, when you finally gave yourself to him. But what came after? Was this stage merely an act? 

You allowed your fingers to slide through his glossy black hair, and he growled his pleasure against your neck. He then pressed you back to the blanket and stretched out beside you again. He did not speak, and you did not care to break the silence between you either, so you just watched the sky until your eyes finally closed and you slipped into a light doze.

You dreamed again, dreams just as strange as they’d been that morning: a gasping, desperate heat tempered by an icy touch. All throughout, some small part of your brain protested, though not as vehemently as you thought you probably should have. He grinned up at you from between your legs, and even in the dream you could feel your face burning.

You jolted awake before things could go any farther, and realized that you were pressed against the prince’s side as he lay sprawled out on his back, his arm supporting your neck and cradling your head against his shoulder. He still appeared to be asleep, but a smile ghosted across his lips as you studied his face. A moment or two later, he seemed to rouse himself slowly, in stages. First his arm tightened briefly around you, then his lithe body stretched luxuriously, and then he yawned, too loudly and too long for it to be truly genuine. It was only when he finally opened his eyes and gave you yet another predatory smile that you realized you’d been staring. “Did you sleep too?” He asked innocently. “I thought I heard you snoring, my lady.”

It was a joke, but you still lowered your gaze. “I do not snore, sire,” you mumbled. You didn’t actually know whether it was true or not, but it seemed like the only response you could offer.

“Are you certain?” He leaned forward a bit to catch your eyes again, and something glinted in his expression—knowing laughter, perhaps. “I could have sworn… No matter. If you’re well-rested, we can go back to the castle. Darkness is fast approaching, and this is no place for a lady, even with an escort like myself.” He stood and stretched once last time, and somehow you kept your eyes from skimming over the length of his body. The dreams were just that—dreams—and they were entirely inappropriate. The man was frightening, and dangerous and, regardless of your position in the palace and the things you had done earlier, it was just wrong for you to have such thoughts about him. You should hate him, really, or, at the very least, not have filthy dreams about him every time you closed your eyes.

But he extended his hand to you to help you to your feet, and he held on for a moment longer than he needed to before he stooped to gather the blanket from the ground. His touch was soft. He helped you up onto the horse and then swung himself into the saddle in front of you. “It can be your turn to cling to me this time, my lady,” he called over his shoulder as the horse lurched into motion, and he was right: you fastened your arms around the prince’s midsection and buried your face in his back. He rode much faster than you had, and you felt less stable sitting behind him, which made your grip necessary. That was what you would tell yourself, anyway.

All too soon, you had arrived back at the castle. You slid down from the horse without help this time, and Loki turned the reins over to a servant in the stables before leading you back inside. You had spent more time together than you’d realized—it was late afternoon, and the light was catching in his eyes, lighting them up in ways you’d not seen before. Once more, you forced such thoughts away. The man was essentially your captor. You would not bend to his will so easily.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, sorry for taking so long to update! I still don't plan on abandoning this story, but I've just found myself...stuck, for a long time. I have a vague idea of what I want to happen, but I'm not totally certain how to actually get there, so for now I'm just kind of slogging through and writing what feels the most right. I will finish this story if I have to tie my muse to a tree in order to do it!

Together, you walked from the stables back into the palace, and you had to concentrate rather hard to keep your focus on the conversation he was making, instead of allowing your mind to turn to the thought of the day's events. The prince noticed your distraction, but, thankfully (and predictably) he seemed to realize the cause. His only action was to slip your hand into the crook of his elbow to guide you along.

“Your company today has been most relaxing, especially after my business away,” he said as the two of you stopped in front of your quarters. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles and grinned up at you. “I hope you enjoyed yourself as well?”

“Oh, yes, sire,” you answered quickly. 

“I am glad.” He pushed your door open, and beyond him you could see yet another flowing emerald gown laid out on your bed. “I have been asked to ask you to join us for supper tonight,” he said in response to the confusion which surely showed on your face. “Before we left, I gave the orders for something appropriate to be brought up for you. I couldn’t resist. You are so very striking in green.”

Supper. With an “us” that could really only mean the rest of the royal family. Your mouth suddenly felt dry, and all you could do for several very long moments was nod in response to his question. “I am sorry, Loki. It is beautiful, sire, but…why would I be asked to join you for supper? Who am I to garner such a thing?”

Loki tugged on the ragged end of one braid. “I have told you. You are a guest, and my mother has decreed it inhospitable to keep you locked up in a cage all day. So you will join us, and you will be charming and graceful and my family will see you the same way that I do.”

Your mind flashed back to what had happened not all that long ago, on the blanket in the middle of nowhere with the prince’s fingers between your legs, and just barely bit back the “I hope not, sire,” that rose in your throat. Anyway, it made no sense for a palace whore to join the royal family for a meal—in fact, this felt much like one of Loki’s tricks, but you could not argue. He must have seen the reluctance in your face despite your best attempts, because he lifted your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles.

“I will come back to collect you in a bit, my lady. Would you like me to send someone to help you dress?”

“No!” The word shot from your mouth with a laugh—the thought of someone coming to help you dress, as though you couldn’t do it yourself, or were perhaps too good to do it yourself, or even that your gown was too complicated was so laughable that you couldn’t stop yourself in time. You managed an apologetic smile and shook your head. “No, thank you. I will manage just fine, I believe.”

“I thought as much,” he said with a smile. “I’ll be back later.” Then he bowed and walked down the hallway leading away from your room. You closed the door behind him and tried to ignore the gown sitting on your bed. Another bath, maybe. You didn’t really need one, but there was no one around to make fun of you or hit you for wasting heat or water, so why not? For the second time that day, you filled the tub with warm water and sank beneath the surface. 

Sighing at the comfort of the heat against your bare skin, you untied your braids and worked them apart with your fingers before leaning back against the edge of the tub. If you focused on just one second at a time, you might even be able to convince yourself that you would be able to stay there forever, as opposed to sitting through a night with the royal family. There would probably be others there as well: if you were invited, then surely it was not just for the family itself, and they would likely be distracted by other, more important things than your presence, but it still promised to be an excruciatingly uncomfortable night.

But alas, the water did grow cold, and you had to rush to clean the dirt and grit off of yourself quickly. You dried off just as quickly in the chill air of the castle and then twisted your hair into what you hoped would pass for an elegant updo, but which probably only looked like a servant’s hasty work intended to keep her hair out of the ashes. It was the best you could do. You sighed and avoided making eye contact with the looking glass as you ventured out of the washroom.

The gown waiting for you on your bed was easily the loveliest dress you’d seen in your entire life—finer even than the one you wore to the ball, or any that had been provided for you since. The silk was soft and shimmering, and the iridescence threw rainbows across the fabric with every movement. It must have been bewitched somehow, because it fit you beautifully, and although ordinarily the low-cut neckline would have made you uncomfortable, you couldn’t help but appreciate the rounded tops of your breasts and the way your skin seemed to glow against the material. The only problem came when you realized that there was a row of tiny buttons running up the back of the dress. You would never be able to fasten it on your own.

You fought valiantly, of course, twisting your body and contorting your arms to try to work as many of the buttons as you could, but even so, at least half of them remained steadfastly out of your reach. Just as you were toying with the idea of putting the gown on backwards and then struggling to turn it around properly again, someone rapped gently on your door. Perhaps Loki had seen through your protests and sent someone to you anyway. You crossed one arm in front of your chest to keep the neckline of the gown in place just as the door swung open.

Really, you shouldn’t have been surprised to see those cool blue eyes fixed on you.

“Stunning,” he murmured, and bowed. Loki, the prince, bowed to you, the no-account village girl who was completely out of her element. You were so taken aback that you nearly forgot how to respond, but finally you sank into a deep curtsy and remained there, unmoving, until he stalked closer and pressed his fingers under your chin. “It is as I have said. My colors suit you well.”

“Thank you, my prince,” you said. Your voice was small, and you hesitated to ask your next question, but if you were planning on leaving the room tonight, it would need to be done. “Sir…if you wouldn’t mind, would you please…fasten the rest of my buttons, sir?”

He smirked at you. “I thought you didn’t need help dressing, my lady.”

“I was perhaps a bit hasty,” you confessed, and tried to ignore your burning cheeks. “I did not know how to call for a servant, my lord.”

He said nothing, just kept raking his eyes along your body, and for a very long minute, you thought that he would make you go to dinner as you were, perhaps to teach you a lesson. But then he made his way behind you and you felt his hands skim lightly along your shoulders and back on their way to the buttons. “I do not mind serving you in this manner tonight, my lady. The view is most agreeable.” He made quick work of the dress, and then pressed his mouth to the base of your neck, just under the hairline revealed by your updo. This time you could not hide the shiver.

“Loki…” You weren’t sure what you wanted to say, but his name fell from your lips anyway. His hands settled on your waist and squeezed. The air around you felt heavy. Expectant. If you turned around, things would change, and you were not entirely certain that you desired that. So you stayed frozen, and slowly his touch slipped away. He was in front of you again, and offered his arm. All it took was one dazzling smile from the prince, and the heaviness cleared. You managed your own weak smile.

“My lady, our table awaits.”

***

The hall was nothing like you had expected. In your mind, the royal family sat at their own small, exclusive table, dining together and taking respite in their own company away from others. It was foolish. Instead, rows of tables filled the room, and many people—mostly drunk people—filled the tables. The cheerful din relaxed you as Loki led you to a table placed ever-so-slightly above the rest—the exclusive table, at least, had been accurate. The king and queen sat at either end, presiding over the rest of the occupants as you would have expected. Prince Thor was deep in conversation with a beautiful woman with dark hair and sharp features. He turned to you as the two of you arrived and beamed warmly at you. He was his brother's exact opposite: large and expressive and so warm. He rose from his seat and clasped both of your hands in his.

“My lady! It is a pleasure to meet you. We were beginning to fear that my brother would decide to keep you hidden away from the rest of us, locked up only for himself!” He grinned, as though to show you that his words were not quite as serious as you thought. 

You struggled to find an appropriate response to the prince, but it was difficult. Everyone knew that this man was slated to be the next king, and while you had had time to adjust to standing in Loki's presence, Thor was still different. A more clever woman, one with more confidence or wit, might have made a quip about how you had feared the same thing, but it was risky. Your tone, after all, could fall flat so easily—you would risk insulting the entire royal family. 

“The pleasure is mine, Lord Prince. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for the invitation to join you all here this evening.”

There, perhaps that would do. Indeed, Thor's face lit up with yet another grin and he nodded, and then excused himself to resume talking to the lady beside him. Loki leaned over, and his breath brushed against your ear as he whispered a singsongy: “Liar.” You looked at him with surprise, and he elaborated. “I do not even have to look at you to feel the nerves coursing through you. You would rather be anywhere but here.”

You couldn't stop your smile as you turned your head to whisper back: “That does not mean I am not thankful for the invitation, my lord.”

“Fair enough.” His hand slipped beneath the table to rest upon your knee. His fingers stroked your skin through the silk of your gown, but made no attempt at impropriety. “Relax, my pet. You will be welcome here for as long as I am. Perhaps even longer.” A strange note entered his voice on the last few words, but before you could question him, he turned from you to speak to the men sitting beside him. A servant placed dish before you, one full of food that somehow looked and smelled even more wonderful than that which had been brought to your room. After glancing around the room to make sure that the rest of the guests had also received their food and were eating (lest you make some kind of faux pas), you sampled each morsel. 

Thankfully, the ladies around you swept you up into their conversation. They all seemed ardently interested in your time spent with Loki, and if it hadn't been for the scene in the garden, you might have found yourself wondering if they were his other women. You were grateful for them, perhaps even more than they could possibly know, because as the night wore on you found yourself becoming more and more comfortable in that room, at that table. Loki did not let go of your hand, but you did not need to cling to him like a frightened child. You could, in fact, hold your own in conversation with high-born ladies: and they even seemed to be accepting you there. 

The noise in the room seemed to swell as the men at the tables around you became drunker and drunker, but even that felt more like home than anything else. After dealing with your father, it was a comfort to know that you could likely guide any of those men into their beds and out of their boots without much fuss at all.

A startled shriek, followed by the crash and clatter of dishes against the stone floor, drew your attention to one of those tables. One of the servants—you recognized her as the girl who had joined you in the library—was struggling with a man who appeared to be a soldier. His fingers were locked tightly, painfully, around her arm as he tried to pull her into his lap. The men around him were chuckling and, as you looked on in horror, many other men began to join in as the spectacle attracted their attention. Even with the considerable distance separating you from her, you could hear her pleading with him to release her, and before you realized what you were doing, you had risen quickly to your feet. 

Loki joined you immediately, and Prince Thor followed suit not long after. Soon, all of the men at the royal table were standing beside you as you glared balefully at the man terrorizing the servant. Someone nudged him, and he finally looked up. Apparently the full force of the attention of the royal family was enough to douse whatever urges were burning inside him, because, with a disgruntled sneer that seemed directed right at you, he released the servant girl's arm. She cast a grateful look towards you before stooping to gather up the dishes and the mess at her feet, and then hurried away again. The men at your table returned to their seats almost immediately, and conversations resumed around you, but you remained standing until the man finally looked away from you. Of course, it was only then that you realized just how out of line you had been—interrupting dinner with the royal family because someone was mistreating a woman? She was a servant in a room full of rowdy men, and you had seen mothers, daughters, sisters mistreated by relatives in your own town, so what made this palace any different? Your stomach twisted as you realized that she was probably used to treatment like that, and you pushed you plate aside. The rest of the people at your table were acting as though nothing was wrong: the ladies were chatting and giggling, and the two princes beside you were strategizing as though there hadn't even been an interruption. It was very likely that they had stood merely because someone at their table had stood, and etiquette demanded it. Would anyone else have done anything about that girl's struggle? What would have happened to her?

You looked around the table, and your eyes landed on the queen. She was studying you carefully, maybe even thoughtfully. You could feel your face go pale—had you offended her? Quickly your mind began attempting to conjure up some way to explain yourself to the woman, but before you could get very far, her lips curved into a smile of approval and she inclined her head slightly at you. 

The night went on, and gradually returned to almost-normal, except for the vague and uncomfortable sensation that you were being watched. It wasn't until many of the men started to clear out of the room that you realized who was doing the watching. It was that man who had grabbed the girl. He was now sitting alone at his end of the table, glowering at you from over a pint. His cheeks were ruddy, and a shock of blond hair stuck straight out from the top of his head. Despite the roundness of his face and body, he had the sharp, mean look of a small man—of a man who had spent most of his life trying to gain the acceptance of the stronger boys. Even worse, he would not take his eyes off of you.

When the ladies decided to retire to their own quarters, freeing many of the seats around you, the small man approached the king, and then slid into a seat beside you. He must have been asking permission to sit at the table, you realized, and glanced at him for the briefest of moments before turning your attentions to the princes' conversation.

Soon there came a hand on your knee, fingers grasping too tightly and stroking too far up your leg for your comfort. You jumped and tried ineffectually to swat the hand away. Loki had yet to notice, and maybe that was a good thing. You didn't want to make a scene tonight of all nights. So you ignored him, straightening your back a few notches more than usual and trying to visualize the battlefields that Prince Thor was describing to his men—and lady.

Until the snuffling. You didn't realize what was happening at first. You just felt a small puff of air against your shoulder, and then a strange heat, and only then did you realize that the man was leaning into you and—sniffing you. You jumped to your feet for the second time that night, this time with enough force to knock your chair down behind you, and, before you could explain yourself to anyone or even look at that man sitting next to you, you fled.

It was only in the relative safety of one of the corridors that you stopped, heart pounding and face burning with shame. You could not make yourself think about what Loki would have to say—he would be angry about your behavior, undoubtedly, which would probably entail more threats and manhandling, but that wasn’t exactly new to you, and it would be worth it to escape that other man’s mere presence. Your skin was crawling.

There were footsteps behind you, a long and angry stride. Loki, then. You should turn around and face him, you knew, but hesitated long enough to draw in a deep breath. It was too long: when you finally did turn around, he was already swooping down on you. But this man did not have the long, elegant form of your prince: he was thicker, sturdier. Plump fingers tightened around your upper arms, and he threw you against the wall. Your breath rushed from your lungs and you had to fight to regain it, but recognizing your attacker didn’t take much effort: it was the same man from the table. 

“You stupid whore,” he spat. “Why don't you mind your own business?” He lifted you away from the wall just enough to slam you back again. “I know what your place is here, don’t you? The prince brought you here to service his men, and that means me. So get on your knees.”

You just stared at him as he puffed and sputtered at you. That is, until he wound up and smashed you across your right cheek. The pain exploded behind your eyes, and he took the opportunity to force you to your knees. His crotch was pressed to your face now, even fouler than his breath, and you could feel his…arousal pressing solidly against you. “That’s what you’re for, stupid. Now take it out and serve me before you make me angry.”

Your stomach was clenching and turning, but the rest of you felt numb. There was no one else in the corridor, which meant no one was around to stop this, but at least it also meant that no one else would see it. Gradually, you realized that your cheeks were wet, which then made you aware that your body was wracked with sobs and shivers. You couldn’t move your arms to obey even if you wanted to. Your eyes had long since been clenched shut.

One second the man was standing there with his fingers dug painfully into the top of your head, but the next second, he was smashing against the wall on the other side of the corridor. Cool hands slid under your arms and pulled you to your feet once more, and it was only when you recognized the touch that you could bring yourself to open your eyes. You struggled to come up with an apology or even some kind of explanation for your behavior, but Loki’s eyes held little anger as he studied your face.

“What did he do?” He demanded in that low voice that you recognized as dangerous. “Did he hurt you? Where did he touch you?”

“Just my face...” You didn’t need to look away from Loki to check whether the bruises were already forming on your arms: you could feel them. “My prince, I am sorry I—”

“Stop.” It was a command, another one not to be disobeyed. “Whatever you are sorry for, my lady, it was his fault. Are you hurt anywhere else? You are trembling.”

You shook your head and allowed him to pull you closer. “Just...shaken, sire,” you mumbled. A guard, likely summoned by the sound of a body crashing into the marble walls, finally appeared, and Loki hissed orders for the man to be thrown into a cell for the foreseeable future, but you were somewhat distracted by your own attempts to regain control over your muscles. Loki smoothed his hand along your back and began walking the two of you away from that place. You didn’t really pay attention to where you were going until you stopped again. 

He had not taken you back to your chambers. Instead, he led you to another door, much larger and more ornate than the few that you had already seen. This…this was the door to a room belonging to someone more important than you. This was a prince’s door, which meant that behind it was a prince’s chambers. And his bed. And… You turned to gape uncertainly at your prince. Did he expect an act of gratitude towards him for saving you from the brute in the corridor? 

“Do not look at me like that,” he said, and if you didn’t know better, you would almost have called his tone tender. He reached out to brush a tear from your throbbing cheek. “I expect nothing from you tonight. Come inside.”

Where else would you go? You hadn’t been paying enough attention to know exactly where in the castle you were, so it wasn’t as though you could make your way back to your own quarters, so…you followed Loki into his quarters. 

It was dark, as you would have expected, and cool, with a strange but intoxicating earthen scent in the air. Once you were inside, he slammed the door behind you and began pacing. You were busy examining his room (tapestries lined several walls, and you might have suspected they were the Queen’s doing if their colors did not match the rest of the room. You caught a few words from the prince—“animal” and “treachery” and “filth”—but you tried not to listen. The room was, as you would have expected, quite full of the color green but accents of a bright sapphire peeked through in places as well. You kept your arms crossed tightly in front of your breasts as you turned your attention to the man stalking the considerable length of the room. He was muttering a single string of words now, and when he came closer you realized what he was saying.

“Mine. You are mine.” He fixed his eyes on your face. His nostrils flared, but you didn’t know the exact reason why until he placed his hand along your cheek where your pulse beat steadily beneath the skin. It was certainly bruised now, and possibly even swollen—although the coolness of your prince’s touch felt wonderful on the heat emanating from your skin, the pressure was still painful. “He hurt what is mine.” There was a fierceness in his voice but you did not fear it. Instead, you pressed your hand gingerly against his and attempted a smile.

“But you stopped him,” you reminded him. If he hadn’t nodded, you might have suspected that he hadn’t heard you—nothing in his face changed, and his muscles remained taut, strained against his clothing.

“I will spread the word that you are not to be touched,” he said. “This should be common knowledge, but I suppose I cannot always expect such intelligence from my father’s soldiers. I will not share you, my lady, make no mistake. Any man who lays his unworthy finger on you will be put to death.”

“Sire, is that not just a little…too far?” Certainly you did not want to run into the man again any time soon, but at the same time, you weren’t sure that he deserved to die for his actions. But the prince shook his head. With a sigh, you slipped your arms around his waist and embraced him, shyness overrun by the emotions that filled the room. After a moment or two, his arms found their way around your shoulders and he held you tightly. Your shivers dissipated as you stood there together, leaning on each other. Before long, his hands moved once again, this time to work the buttons down your back. He was removing your dress, or at least unbuttoning it. Still, surrounded as you were by his arms, you could not exactly pull away to stop him.

“My lady. He attacked you, a royal guest, in your own home. He hit you, and was going to do much worse besides, and still you care about his life?” His expression was unreadable. It was all you could do to keep yourself from smiling wryly at his rage and confusion. Had he himself not done similar things, and worse, to you during your stay here? Had he forgotten, or were his own actions excused? He was a prince, after all. “You smile again. Why are you smiling?”

Was it better to lie, or to remain silent?

“It is nothing, my lord, I just…sire, you are not completely innocent of those things yourself.” You could have stopped there, but certainly the damage had already been done. “The first time you visited me you threatened me with much worse than that man in the hallway, and the next night in the garden, you did very nearly the same thing that he did tonight.” The silence stretched between you, and you could almost feel the anger bubbling up in the prince. You had mere moments to explain yourself, or to try to salvage the situation. Your stupid, big, stupid mouth. The next words spilled from your mouth in a hasty stream. “Of course, I understand that your birth and my position make things…different in your situation, but do you not at least see the similarities?” You kept your eyes averted and your head ducked low. The more meek and submissive you could make your body language, perhaps the less of an effect that your words would have on his temper.

But still he did not speak. He felt dangerous again. Was there nothing you could say? 

“Sire, please do not misunderstand me. That man’s intentions were cruel, while yours—”

“Enough.” 

His voice cut you off, and though the temptation to steal a glance at his face was great, you resisted. “My father’s soldiers would rip you apart, given half the chance. There are whispers coming from their quarters that would make you quake with fear. They are selfish, bloodthirsty men who would like nothing more than to catch a lady like you outside of the village one summer afternoon and spend the rest of the day making her wish she’d never been born. It is only my own selfish nature currently keeping you safe.”

It was probably true. You remained silent, however, your instinct of self-preservation finally kicking in. He placed his hand upon your cheek again, seemingly mindful of the pressure of his touch. One of the shoulders of your dress had slipped down, and his other hand was tugging on it before you could replace it. With one quick, angry yank, the beautiful material ripped and pooled around your ankles, leaving you standing bare before your prince. You had, after all, received no other garments besides the gown.

“I am aware that I am a monster, my lady. You need not remind me of that.” His voice was icy as he walked a tight circle around your body. You crossed your arms in front of yourself protectively, but you could only cover so much, and his fingers raked along the swell of one of your buttocks, making you jump. “But it would serve you well to remember that there are far more terrible monsters out there waiting for you.”

In reality, you should have been thanking the prince for his kindness and apologizing for your insolence. Maybe another kind of woman might even have used her body to distract the prince and apologize without words. But all that fell from your mouth as you stood there trying not to shiver was a pathetic “I do not think you are a monster.”

Loki snorted bitterly and without humor. “More lies? You’ve said it yourself. I’ve kidnapped you and abused you and plan to break you in order to turn you into my whore. If I am not a monster, my lady, then what am I?”

“A prince.” You lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “How many have dared to tell you no, and lived to tell the tale?” He did not speak, but the smirk that crept across his face was all the answer you really needed. “And yet here we are. I am standing not three steps from your bed, wearing hardly a scrap of clothing. I could not stop you if you decided to force yourself upon me here and now. But you have promised me patience, and you are upholding that promise, and quite frankly, my lord, the rules are different for you. It is not that you are a monster, but that you are different. I merely wished to remind you, sire, that it is only by a quirk of time and nature that you are not the soldier in the cell, or he you.”

“And is that truly the only way in which we are different?” His eyes bored into yours, holding tightly to your gaze despite your great urge to look anywhere but his face. Traces of amusement were creeping back into his expression. He crossed his arms as though to mimic you. There was at least one major difference, of course.

“No,” you mumbled. 

“Well?” He would not allow you to look away, but you could not stop yourself from squirming uncomfortably.

“That man’s advances were frightening, my lord, and…wholly unwelcome.”

The lack of surprise in Loki’s face did not surprise you much, either. The entire point of his plan had been to charm and seduce you into his bed, after all. What was slightly more surprising was the lack of smugness in his smile. Cocky, arrogant Loki, for once, was not smirking at you. “Whereas my advances are frightening and only a bit unwelcome.” 

You had no answer for him, because ultimately you had no answer for yourself. 

Still grinning, Loki pulled his tunic up over his head to reveal the pale expanse of his chest. His skin was no less striking in the torchlight of his chambers than it had been in the sunlight, and you stood transfixed until he held the material out to you. A peace offering? You pulled it on quickly to cover your body, and once you did, the prince took you in his arms once more. “My lady is never dull,” he murmured into the top of your head. “It is a rare few who are willing to speak to me the way you do.”

His arms tightened in anticipation, as though he knew you would pull back and attempt to explain yourself. “It is a good thing, pet, a very good thing. I have no interest in the weak and compliant. They are good to rule, but beyond that?” You felt him wave dismissively, and he released you to look at you carefully. His gaze was appreciative, but also...hungry. It was hard to keep from remembering the events of the afternoon, the sun and the heat and the way your body had felt under the prince's touch. You did not—would not—let your mind wander to the thought of his erection standing before you in the glittering light, or the way it might feel, cool and solid, pressing deep inside of you the way his fingers had. His mouth curled into a grin, as though he knew what you were thinking. 

Just as you began to move away from him, hoping that the distance might clear your head, he scooped you into his arms and twirled the two of you into his bed. A startled noise escaped your mouth before you could stop yourself, but he held you carefully in the cage of his arms, and you were not hurt. “The things I long to do to you, my lady,” he said. His voice was thick. “Our outing today was but a tiny example of the ways in which I can please you.” He shifted so that he was stretched out above you and one knee pressed high between your legs. “I can show you stars and worlds you've never even dreamed of, and all you have to say is one little word.” He lowered his head to explore your neck with his mouth, and the soft, persistent tugging on your tender flesh was enough to evoke a quiet moan. But it seemed every part of your body was beginning to ache, from the horse and then from the cruel soldier, and so you pushed against your prince's chest.

“Loki...” The words swirled and churned in your mind, resisting your attempts to shape them into speech. Your prince sighed heavily, though it was amusement, not disappointment, which rested on his brow.

“I understand, my lady. You are exhausted, and I am still your kidnapper.” He brushed his thumb gently under your eyes and then pressed it to your lips to hold back your protests.. “Just know that, in this matter, you hold me in the palm of your hand. You may sleep safely. I assure you, nothing untoward will befall you while you do.” He returned his lips to your neck for only a moment, and his teeth tugged on your skin just enough to make your eyes slide closed. “No matter how irresistible you look here in my bed.”

If this was a ploy, it was...effective, you mused as you felt him shift to cover the two of you with a blanket. And despite the strangeness of the situation and the events of the day, you did find yourself nestling closer to the man whose bed you were sharing. His breath was soft on your shoulder, and if you had been more alert, you may have taken a moment to compare it to the disgusting soldier at dinner, but as it was, you let yourself fall asleep to the sound of the prince's breathing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! I know that updates for this story have been really sparse lately, but the closer I get to the end, the less I want to write it. I just really like spending time in this world--is that awful and narcissistic of me? *nailbiting* There's a lot more left to this story, so it's not ending any time soon, but I do know what I want to do with it now.
> 
> So, please enjoy this ridiculously long chapter! I didn't *really* want to end it where I ended it, but I knew that if I didn't, I would just keep writing and fifty pages later I'd have an awesome chapter ready to post but no one would be interested anymore. Dilemmas!
> 
> Thank you for reading. I can't say that enough. Thank you for taking the time to read the words that I've written. There are so many other things you could be doing out there on the internet (and, I mean, obviously even more in real life), so the fact that you're here, reading all these silly things I'm writing, is a huge thing for me. I appreciate every single one of you.

You were not at home. 

No, of course not, you were in the palace. That was your home now.

But you also weren't in your room in the palace. The bed felt different and smelled different. It was strange but also somehow...familiar. And you were wrapped around someone, legs tangled and arms thrown around their body, with your head on their shoulder. It was only then that you remembered what had happened and where you were—and you had to tell yourself not to jerk away from your bedmate, lest you wake him. 

The room was dark, as though someone had extinguished the torches, and only a faint silvery light shone in through the window. It was still late, or perhaps very early in the morning, but you carefully extracted yourself from the prince and crept out of bed, over to the window. You must have been on the opposite side of the palace from the room you normally stayed in, because the view was unfamiliar. The moon bathed an empty courtyard with its faint light, and you were struck by the (likely misguided) thought that you were the only one awake to see the sight. There were probably people awake all over the palace: servants and others who had work to do at this hour of the day. 

As they so frequently did, your thoughts turned to others in your life. Your father, who would probably have drunken himself into a stupor by now. You wondered how much money he had received. If it had been enough to recover the cost of his last gift to you. You wondered about Sigg and her family—why had someone so young sought the kind of life promised by the ball? Maybe her family had needed the money as yours had, and when the carriages had delivered her back to her home, she had faced a threat like your own father. It hurt you to think of anyone raising their hand against her, but of course it was not a rarity in towns like yours. And the servant girl from the library and the dining hall, would she be safe? Maybe it was silly to hope that your foolish display at dinner would send the message to everyone else present that she was off-limits, as it were, but you refused to quash that tiny swell of hope in your chest. At the very least, you hoped that you had not caused any problems for her.

You leaned your cheek against the stone wall, but had to stand up straight again when your head began to throb. Right. You were hurt. You raised your fingertips to press gingerly against your swollen cheekbone, and were unable to hold back a pained hiss. Dammit. 

“Pet?” Loki's voice did not sound marred by sleep in the slightest: with a smile you imagined that he would never allow his silver tongue to go hoarse. The alternative was that he had not been sleeping at all. Despite the coolness of the stone, you felt yourself grow hot: had he been awake at whatever point in the night that you had draped yourself around him? What had he thought? “What are you doing? Come to bed.”

Your apology stuck in your throat, but you obeyed, and he folded you back into his arms. You fell asleep quickly, and did not dream.

***

The next time you opened your eyes, you were alone in the room—or in the bed, anyway. When you sat up, you realized that there was indeed someone standing in the doorway, watching you. It took a moment, but you did eventually recognize her as the small servant who frequently shared your breakfast. When she saw that you were awake, she took a small step toward you, but hesitated again.

“Good morning,” you greeted her. She managed a smile.

“Are you hungry, my lady? The prince told us we could find you in his room today.” Her eyes widened as they finally fell on your face. The bruise must have worsened overnight. “Miss, what happened?”

“It's nothing,” you answered, and swung your legs over the edge of the bed. A tray of food was waiting for you near the foot of the bed. “Would you like some breakfast too?”

The girl hesitated for a moment, and then shook her head slightly. “This...this is the prince's quarters,” she said in a hushed voice. “What if he finds out?”

You couldn't help but smile at her, and held out a warm roll of bread. “Who's going to find out? I won't tell him.”

Finally, and with the speed of a small creature who feared some sort of predator swooping in and attacking, the girl took the roll from you and nibbled on one edge. Maybe it was the warmth of the bread, or the taste, or just the realization that no one else was in the room, but she smiled at you and seemed to relax then, though she didn't join you on the bed as she might have in your own room. As you ate, she revealed that Loki had had some additional business to attend to outside of the palace walls, and that you were to be escorted to the library, if you wished, or to your room or even the stables. You had to laugh at the thought of riding another horse, this time alone, all while still aching from the day before. The library, you decided, would be fine.

“I thought as much,” the girl said with a smile. “I will send Rowan to you when I get back to the kitchen.” She tucked the roll into the folds of her dress before catching your confused look. “She's the one who joined you in the library last time. The prince has asked that she join you again, if you desire it.” 

The girl from the library. She would also be the girl from dinner last night. You nodded and sipped your tea as the girl finished what was left on the tray. It wasn't until she had almost left the room that you realized, after all this time, that you had yet to learn her name.

“What is your name?” You asked. She paused in the doorway, looking confused, but then lowered herself into as deep a curtsey as she could manage, carrying the tray. 

“They call me Sindri, my lady,” she answered with a shy smile. “Them that bother, anyway. I don't mind 'child' or 'girl', or even 'you there'.” She lowered her voice in an approximation of the men of the palace, and you couldn't help but laugh. “Thank you for your kindness, miss. I will send Rowan to you now.” She left, and you cast about for a moment or two, trying to figure out what you were supposed to wear. You couldn't venture out into the rest of the castle wearing only the prince's tunic, but your gown from last night was in no condition to be worn, either. But then you spotted it, laid out across a large chair on the other side of the room: a simple gown cut from silvery-grey silk. It was certainly a change from the elaborate emerald numbers that you had been wearing, but it was much closer to your preferred style. In any case, you slipped it on and smoothed it down against your skin, at which point a hesitant knocking sounded against the prince's door. The girl from the library—Rowan, you told yourself—peeked inside.

You hurried to greet her at the door, unwilling to keep her waiting, but when she saw your face, her eyes filled with woe and she covered her mouth with both hands. You made a mental note to look at yourself in the next looking glass you saw—you must look horrible. “My lady,” she cried, reaching one hand toward you before apparently remembering herself and pulling it back again. “What happened? I hope the prince did not punish you for standing on my behalf!”

“No,” you assured her, and reached out to take her hand. “No, please don't worry. It was the man who was hurting you, but the prince had him imprisoned, so neither of us has to worry about him today.” You paused just long enough to catch her eyes. She looked wary, but then managed a weak smile. “Will you come with me today?”

“Yes, my lady.” She pulled her hand away and lead you across the palace to the library. It was a much longer walk from the prince's quarters than from your own, but you recognized the corridor when you came to it, and stopped in front of the correct set of doors. As before, a fire was blazing in the fireplace, and the light from the flames danced over the shelves. You found yourself pondering the horrors that could result from an errant spark or coal as you meandered down the aisles of books, but dismissed the idea. It seemed impossible somehow, as though the books could be protected from the flames by magic.

You pulled a book from the shelf and looked over at the girl, suddenly shy again. Would she want to spend another day working through an unfamiliar book? In any case, the title you had pulled was easy enough to work if she did, but could also hold your interest if she decided she would rather just sit before the fire.

“Would you...do you want to read some more?” You asked, and held the book aloft so she could see the cover. She nodded, looking almost as shy as you felt, and joined you at the table from before. She spoke quietly as you opened the cover of the book.

“Miss, please forgive me if I offend you, but why are you so kind to me? To everyone else I am invisible. We are all invisible, and that is how it should be.”

For a long time, you had no answer for her. It didn't seem quite right that so many people in the palace were ignored because of their station. But then again, perhaps that was because of your own humble upbringing. You spent most of your life with women just like Rowan, and not like the beautiful lady from dinner last night. 

“We are the same,” you finally managed. “I am not royalty. I grew up in the dirt and the streets of a poor village. Were it not for a chance moment at the ball, I would still be there, invisible like you except to men who aimed to marry or mistreat me.” 

Rowan was silent for a long time, and when you ventured a glance at her face, she looked as though she were trying to summon the courage to speak. She met your eyes and smiled almost sheepishly, but then shrugged. The subject seemed all but dismissed, but then she spoke one last time. “We have all heard of your kindness, especially to the young one who brings you food.” Her eyes sparkled, and it was only then that you realized that Sindri had also been sharing your food with others around her. Good. You felt yourself grin. “You are very well-liked in the servants' quarters, my lady, if that makes you any happier here in the palace.”

Surprisingly enough, it did. Your smile widened, and a similar one made its way across Rowan's face too. It was a relief to know that when the prince lost interest in you and you were relegated to servitude you might find yourself with a friend or two in the quarters. You moved your chair closer to the girl and the two of you pored over the book in front of you. By the end, she was reading whole pages aloud without stumbling over a single word. Forgetting yourself for a moment, you threw your arms around her with pride.

“You've been practicing,” you exclaimed. “That was wonderful.”

“Thank you, my lady.” She seemed a little uncomfortable, but began smiling. “It has been difficult, but some of the older servants have been helping me when we have a spare moment here and there.”

Before she could say anything else, you both became aware of a presence in the doorway. His body language was weary as he leaned against the wall, slouched over and practically curling in on himself, though he retained just enough nobility to make it absolutely clear who he was. Rowan leapt to her feet and nervously excused herself, curtseying deeply in front of the prince before slipping past him into the corridors outside. You were slightly more composed—you simply rose and watched him stalk to a chair by the fire.

He had yet to speak. It was difficult to tear your eyes away from his face, and your mind raced through the various situations which surely awaited you—being scolded or ridiculed for socializing with the servants, being banished from the library, being banished from the castle—but the silence was broken only by the fire crackling away, oblivious to either of you. So, fine. If he saw no reason to speak, then neither did you. You re-shelved the book you had been reading and chose another before sitting in the plush seat across from the prince. Slowly—oh, so slowly—you found yourself relaxing, and decided that his presence was rather more peaceful than it had been when he'd first walked in.

“If only you could have seen yourself last night,” he finally said. At first, you were not even certain that he had actually spoken, but when you looked up from the pages, his eyes were fixed on you. Your stomach tightened pleasantly at the way he was looking at you. It wasn't dangerous or predatory, for once. It wasn't calculating, or even thoughtful. The prince—a man who had taken you from your home and who commanded entire forces of men and lived in the very same palace that had towered over your faraway village for as long as you could remember—seemed to be looking at you merely to look at you. You tried to hold his gaze as he continued. “Clothed in nothing but my tunic and the silvery moonlight. Your hair was...it was a mess, but when the light caught it, it was perfect.”

His words, mixed with the quiet unguarded expression on his face, made you blush and shift in your seat. You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already speaking again.

“I did not know it was possible to feel such jealousy towards a beam of light until I saw how freely it touched your skin there by the window. That is why I had them send a silver gown for you.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug that seemed defeated. “I did not know I would be called away again. I had wished to see you in it all day so that I could remember how you looked last night. But alas, my lady, here we are now, and I cannot tell whether your cheeks are so flushed from the firelight or from my words.” His smile was more like an easy grin, a slow curl of his lips now that he had finished speaking.

“I think both, sire,” you heard yourself mumble. “I've never heard you speak this way before.”

“You make me do strange things,” he replied, and leaned forward in his chair. “Come to the garden with me.”

It was not, all things considered, a strange request, so although you looked at him with confusion for a moment before closing your book, you did not deny him. Instead, you placed the book back on the shelf and moved back to his seat to offer him your hand. He merely looked at it for a moment, studying it as though it were somehow more than just a hand. Slowly he raised his arm to trail his fingertips down the smooth skin of your arm. Goosebumps followed closely behind his soft touch even as he took your hand and pulled your wrist against his lips. The goosebumps spread through your body and, when the prince raised his eyes to meet yours, elicited a strange shiver of pleasure. 

“My prince...” It was difficult to find words. Hell, it was difficult to remain standing. Why did this man have such an effect on you?

“My lady.” His eyes were very dark despite the dancing firelight that reflected within them. Finally he rose and tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow. “I shall lead us there.” 

You recognized much of the path you took from the grand library to the even grander garden, which pleased you in a secret way. You were becoming more and more familiar with the palace, and thus would depend less and less on the kindness and patience of others. When you wound up in the garden, you recognized the bright white flowers shining in the lights that twinkled above you, though it was an unfamiliar part of the garden itself. The clean scent of the life growing around you filled your nose and you allowed your eyes to slip closed with pleasure. Loki took advantage of the moment and pressed one hand against your eyes.

“Keep them closed until I say,” he whispered against your cheek. His breath was warm, and tickled as it caught in your hair. You could not help but shiver once more. He led you somewhere, but your only clue was the feel of the ground beneath your feet as it grew softer, and then suddenly hard. A staircase? Some sort of wooden platform? You hadn't been walking very far, so you knew you were still in the garden, but you could not imagine where he was taking you. “Now, my lady,” came his words—from behind. He allowed his hands to settle on your hips, pulling you flush against his body.

When you opened your eyes, you were grateful for his actions—without someone there to steady you, you may have lost your balance and fallen over the edge into what appeared to be either a very deep pond or a very small lake. Without meaning to, you lowered your hands to grasp at the prince's as you looked out across the water. The surface was still, disturbed only by the wind and the occasional ripple from some inhabitant breaking the surface. Near your feet, it appeared as though soft lights were glowing in the water, but they moved like fish or some other water creature.

“I do not know how to swim,” you said. It seemed as though you should be speaking, and that was the best your mind could come up with in the face of such beauty. Loki laughed against your shoulder. 

“I have no intentions of throwing you in,” he assured you. “Would you like to sit?”

“My dress...it might get wet.” And, though the temptation was great to allow your bare feet to dangle into the water, it would absolutely be improper to remove your slippers or stockings in the presence of your prince. Wouldn't it?

Loki stepped away and sat on the edge of the platform, then tugged lightly on your ankle. “There are hundreds more where that one came from, pet, and hundreds of servants well-educated on rescuing damp clothing. Sit with me.” One hand crept beneath your skirt, up the length of your leg, and you jumped until you realized he was merely hooking one finger through the top of one of your stockings. He guided it off slowly, never breaking eye contact with you even when he tossed it, along with your slipper, into the soft earth not too far from where he sat. He repeated the process with the other stocking, which of course left you with no choice but to gather your skirts up above your knees and find a place to sit. 

The water was cool against your skin, refreshing, and the ripples that made their way out from around your ankle gave you something to look at besides the prince. Why was he being so kind this evening? Part of you was counting the minutes until he snapped again, but mostly you found yourself...enjoying it.

“You are weary, my lord. Was your trip today very tiring?”

His lips held only the smallest trace of a smile as he studied your face. “Perceptive pet. No, my lady. My brother and I merely...exchanged harsh words on our return trip, that is all. He does not understand things as clearly as you.”

You kicked your feet gently in the water to distract yourself from the words. Of course the prince understood things much more clearly than you ever could. You were nobody. You sighed. “I suppose brothers are difficult no matter where you grow up.”

“Tell me about yours.”

The words made you look up again. “Sire, I have told you all there is to tell about him. He is very strong but very stupid. He would make a good soldier or miller's assistant, but he lacks...warmth. And personality.” A different person might have felt ashamed to speak so harshly of her own family, but yours had never given you reason to care. “We never got along.”

“Was there no one of value in your life, pet? No giggling best school friend or blushing lover?”

You hoped the lights that surrounded the two of you were dim enough to hide the blush that colored your cheeks. “There was my mother. And then there were books, those that I managed to borrow from people in the village.” You watched as one of the light-fish investigated your toes. 

“Then why did you resist so strongly the idea of living here with me? If you have no one at home, what difference would it have made?” He wanted you to look at him. His eyes were probing, insistent, but you would not look away from the creature in the water. How could he not see?

“Because it was not my own idea, my lord prince. I was thrown into a carriage without my consent, and then paraded through a ballroom without my consent, and then locked into a room without my consent, all so that I could become a part of some strange man's harem where he would use me in whichever ways he wanted, without my consent until he tired of me, at which point I would be relegated to the servants' quarters or else killed.” He was beginning to speak again. “And yes, sire, I know now that there is no harem, and you have promised me patience, but I did not know these things and even if I had, my lord, it was all, quite frankly, terrifying.” You reached across the platform to take his hand, but found no more words within yourself.

Finally the prince found some of his own. “You have become very dear to me, pet, and to many others in the palace besides. Know that you will never find yourself serving my family or any other in the land. And as for killing you?” He chuckled to himself and lifted your knuckles to his lips. “My mother would have my head if I even dared to suggest such a thing.”

His mother? The queen. A strange feeling flooded through you. Did that mean she liked you, or would there be other ramifications—perhaps political—to your death? It would have to be the latter: you hadn't had nearly enough time with the queen to show her anything beyond the obvious: your humble, humble roots and just how out of place you were in the palace.

Your confusion must have been showing on your face, because after a moment or two, Loki reached over and cupped one cheek in his hand. “Will my lady kiss me now?”

Unlike the first time he had uttered those words, your heart did not start racing with fear. After all that had transpired between the two of you, and the lengths he had gone to in order to assure you of your safety, you would have felt foolish to be so frightened. So you withdrew your feet from the water and pulled them up under your body as you shifted to a kneeling position. He watched silently (and with an air of amusement) as you maneuvered your skirts to keep them away from the surface of the water before leaning forward to press your lips against his. 

He did not move for several long moments, did not slide a hand around the back of your neck or the side of your face. He did, of course, return the kiss, and he was the one to part his lips and slide his tongue along yours to prompt you to do the same. It was only when you granted him access to your mouth that he slid his hand along your back, pressing firmly but gently and in a way that spoke of no intentions to release you. After a moment, he leaned forward and guided you down onto the wooden platform, never breaking the kiss or allowing his touch to leave your skin. The water was lapping at the planks below you: the sound registered dimly in your ears.

When the prince pulled back, you realized that his hand was beneath your skirts again, and resting on your inner thigh. The coolness of his touch was enough to remind you of the heat you'd felt just the day before in the middle of nowhere when he touched you, and of the same heat that you felt building inside you tonight. 

He did not ask for permission this time, but instead pushed aside the flimsy cloth of your knickers and brushed his thumb against your most sensitive place. The heat seemed to ignite with the touch, and your hips jerked towards him almost of their own accord. A pleasured gasp escaped your lips, and he pressed his free hand against your mouth.

“Not a sound, pet,” he whispered. “You don't want to attract anyone else's attention, do you?” You shook your head even as your eyes slipped closed with pleasure. One finger was teasing your entrance, spreading your arousal while he continued with his lazy circles. “I, of course, would not mind so much if others arrived to witness this. It is not fair to deny them the glory of watching you writhe with pleasure, but I am also very selfish. I do not wish to share you with anyone.” 

On this final word, he slipped two fingers inside you and pumped slowly. It was dizzying. A muffled whimper made its way past the prince's hand, prompting you to clutch at his wrist to keep it more firmly in place. You could not open your eyes to see whether he was smirking at you, but you also didn't really care. He increased the speed of his thumb, and there was a slight, almost painful pressure as he added a third finger, but even that gave way to more pleasure. Soon your hips were bucking against his hand, trying to draw him deeper or make him move faster. Your mind was a swirling haze with only one truly clear thought: more. You needed more. Your fingernails were digging into the pale skin pressed against your mouth, and one more whimper escaped before your prince acquiesced and allowed you to slip over the edge of orgasm. He did not stop his ministrations even as you rode out the final waves of pleasure, but when your body finally began to return to normal, he did remove his hand from your mouth.

You opened your eyes blearily, and you were grateful for the darkness now not because it hid your flushed cheeks but because it did not burn your eyes. Loki was watching you with a very satisfied look on his face. When he saw that you were looking at him, he finally allowed his hand to slip out from under your skirts. His fingers were coated with your wetness, and glistened in the few lights that surrounded you. Once again without breaking eye contact, he slipped each finger into his mouth to taste it, to clean it. You could not look away.

“I do not think I will ever grow tired of you. Or that.” His voice was thick. You did not speak, just pulled that very same hand down to your mouth to allow those very same fingers past your lips. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly as you ran your tongue over each fingertip, between them and around them. There was no trace of yourself left on his skin, just the taste of his mouth. When you were finished, he pressed his fingers just slightly deeper into your mouth before pulling them away, and kissed your forehead. “The things I plan to do to you...” he mumbled. “I could have you here and now. I do not think I could even last the trip back to a bed.”

Could you? Would you? Should your first time with a man be outside, in a garden in the middle of the night? Were you even ready to give him permission for that? 

He sensed your struggle, but perhaps misinterpreted it. “Would it be easier if I took it from you by force? If I turned myself into the monster you already know?” Now you became aware of his arousal, hard and insistent against your leg. But these did not sound like threats, not really. If he really meant them, after all, he would not have bothered to ask. A sense of peace was beginning to grow within you. It seemed he would truly wait.

And so you reached between the two of you to squeeze him through his trousers. “May I, sire?”

He smirked. “Absolutely, pet.” With that, he rolled away from you slightly and onto his back. You fumbled with his belt for a few moments before he lost patience and knocked your hands away so that he could push everything unceremoniously down past his hips. Impatient. You would have smiled, maybe even laughed, but the sight of him, erect and glowing in the moonlight, startled you silent. He crossed his arms under his head and though his eyes were closed, you got the feeling that he was watching you somehow.

“Feeling shy?” If the sight of his cock was enough to silence you, the tone of his voice was enough to spur you to action. You did not reply, only reached out to wrap your fingers around him. The masculine growl of pleasure told you that you were doing fine, but the way he had reacted when you put his fingers in your mouth gave you another idea. Your rhythm faltered, and then your touch slipped away as you repositioned yourself next to him on the platform. He was certainly looking at you now, through heavily-lidded eyes.

You summoned all your courage and lowered your head to flick the tip of your tongue across the tip of his cock. His reaction was immediate: one hand came down to grasp the back of your neck, and a stream of mumbled oaths issued forth from his mouth. You would have pulled back to see what the matter was except, of course, for the hand on the back of your neck. “Just like that,” he said. “Don't stop, that's good.”

So you pressed forward, taking him slowly into your mouth inch by inch. He was groaning louder now, and you were afraid that he would be the one to attract attention to the two of you, but hardly thought it your place to ask him to be quiet. You closed your eyes instead. Who would dare disrupt the prince during a moment like this in his own garden? Surely even his mother would rather pretend not to have seen anything?

With your sight darkened and your sense of panic ignored, you were able to focus more fully on the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he smelled. The prince was filling your senses as you swirled your tongue around him, and it was not unpleasant. You kept one hand wrapped around his base, massaging it as your mouth found a rhythm around him. In return, his hand tightened around the back of your neck, and he was saying something that might have been quiet encouragements, but it was hard to understand him. You redoubled your efforts just in case.

Then it was his turn to buck his hips against you and he was spurting into your mouth. You choked and tried to pull away, but he was still holding onto you, and pumping hard between your lips. It was all you could do to keep breathing normally and not choke, so you froze and allowed him to finish. When he finally lifted your mouth off of him, you hesitated before turning your head to let his seed drip to the ground, but he stopped you with a finger against your chin.

“Swallow.” His voice was low. There would be no refusal. You hesitated for only another moment before swallowing the bitter fluid. It was still less than pleasant, but then again, not entirely revolting. Loki stroked your cheek before his arm flopped back down to the platform. “Good girl.”

For a long time, only the sounds of the garden filled the silence. You rocked back from your knees to sit cross-legged on the platform, and that motion seemed to break the spell that held Loki. He fixed his trousers and turned half onto his side so he could look at you. His eyes were still dark, and something that glinted in their depths made you lower you gaze with a blush. Still he did not speak. A night bird called its song mournfully out across the darkness, and another echoed it back moments later. The water continued to lap at the planks beneath you, and something in the distance broke the surface of the pond. He stretched out on his back, and you joined him to look up at the stars that glinted in the sky.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! Two updates in...like...a little over a week? Crazy, right? I did promise some of you in the comments that I'd be updating again pretty soon, so here it is! I hope you enjoy this one even though there is less Loki in this chapter than there's been in a while. :)
> 
> Oh, and I'm noticing that the chapters are getting longer and longer--do you feel like they're dragging at all? Like I've said, this started out as a private little document full of self-indulgence, so at first it didn't matter what my audience thought because there *was* no audience, but now that I've got some of you drawn into the world and the story, I don't want to bore you! Let me know what you think? 
> 
> As always, I love you all madly!

By the time the prince spoke again, the air was beginning to chill and seep beneath the fabric of your dress. You had just begun to wonder whether the prince was asleep and, if he was, whether you should wake him to go back into the palace. You couldn't help but wonder what he would be like immediately upon waking. Would he be cross? Disoriented? Affectionate? The thought was laughable—a smiling, yawning Loki with mussed hair rolling over in bed and bidding you good morning—and you did snort quietly in the darkness. A cool hand sought yours, found it, and then raised it to his lips again. You jumped.

"My lady, your skin is nearly as cold as mine." You looked over, and found that Loki had turned his head to study you. When he saw you looking back, the corners of his lips curled up from behind your hand, and he blew a warm breath against your skin. "We'll go back inside. I'll have something warm brought to my room while my lady warms herself before a fire." He sat up, and his grin widened into a smirk. "Perhaps once she's relieved herself of her clothing?"

"Loki..." Your cheeks were hot, which of course was ridiculous. You'd already stood naked in front of him. You'd slept nearly naked with him. The thought of sitting naked in his quarters shouldn't be so mortifying. He heaved a sigh and climbed to his feet, then extended his hand to help you up as well.

"You may wear the dress if you'd like. I just assumed you'd be more comfortable without it." He tucked your hand into the crook of his arm and the two of you walked back into the palace. As you did, you passed the older servant—the one who sneered at you and whom you hadn't seen since the day you rode the horse with Loki—and she managed to catch your eye and smirk at you just before Loki turned to speak to her.

His tone was cold and imperious as he told her to have a tray brought to his room, and the sound made you cringe although the woman seemed nonplussed. You could not bring yourself to look at her again, and so allowed Loki to sweep you down the corridor and into his quarters. The door clicked shut behind him with a strange sort of finality, and you turned to look at him uncertainly. He raked his eyes along your body and then bowed, a bizarre combination of hunger and respect.

"Would my lady care to sit before the fire? I did not mean for you to catch a chill in the garden tonight. You seemed to like it the last time we were there, and I sometimes go there to think." He pursed his lips in a lascivious grin. "And I'll have quite a bit more to think about the next time I go."

"The fire is wonderful, my lord prince," you said hastily, eager to change the subject and, if you were to be very honest, also distance yourself from the man. You sat cross-legged on the soft rug spread out before the fireplace and tried not to allow the dancing flames to hypnotize you into sleep. There was a rustling behind you, and then Loki joined you wearing only his trousers. Your eyes must have widened, or your shoulders tightened, because he chuckled and reached to smooth your hair.

"I wish only to be comfortable, pet. I have no intentions of breaking my promises tonight, however maddening you look in that dress." He continued to trail his fingers through your hair, and your eyes slipped closed at the pleasant feeling. Without looking, you could tell that there were goosebumps lining your arms, but all you could do was sigh softly. The prince must have noticed, because one hand moved to caress your arm. "Are you still chilled? The bed might be a warmer choice than the floor." But his voice was teasing, knowing, so you merely opened your eyes slightly to cast a level look in his direction. He laughed again and tugged on your hair to bring your head down into his lap. The two of you lapsed into silence then—what was there to say as you stared into a fire while the royal prince stroked your hair?!-until finally he spoke up again.

"I nearly forgot, pet: my mother has asked to see you tomorrow. She wishes to speak with you." You would have shot straight up with shock, but Loki anticipated your movement and retained a gentle pressure on your head, keeping you in place. "Do not worry yourself so. My mother is not so frightening."

"To you, maybe," you found yourself mumbling. Loki's hands stilled and you turned your head to look at him. "My lord, you are her child. I am...I am some stray villager that her child has brought into her home and who eats her food and wears her fineries whilst bringing nothing in return. I have no land, sire. I have no money, and I certainly have no nobility to my name. At any moment she would be well within her rights to order me banished, or...or worse." You hesitated for a moment, and then added. "And, Loki...she is the queen."

He was shaking his head, and in his eyes there was a hint of that familiar frustration. Part of you wanted to sit up and move away in case, in his anger, he struck out at you, but you didn't dare, lest the motion set him off for certain. Slender fingers gripped your chin almost too tightly as he spoke. "You are no stray. How many times must I repeat myself until you begin to believe me, pet? The only person in this entire palace who thinks such a thing of you is yourself, and I will not tolerate such a lack of respect for my lady. Do you understand?"

You held his gaze and managed a tiny nod, but said nothing. Perhaps your upbringing in the reality of the village had granted you more education in this matter than the prince's in his fanciful palace. People would always think such things of others. There were whispers in the village whenever two people of differing stations were caught together, and there was never this big a difference in those stations. There was not a chance in all the world that you would ever speak such a thought aloud to the man above you: if you had learned nothing else during your stay at the palace, it was that.

"My mother has expressed fondness for you. My brother has warned me not to mistreat you, lest he gather a band of soldiers to rescue you from my evil clutches." He smiled a bit, and the sight was enough to hush your protest that Prince Thor had met you but once and thus reasonably should not have developed an opinion of you in either direction. "And that servant girl in the library was looking at you with adoration unlike anything I have ever seen—and, pet, I am a member of the royal family. I do not understand why you insist so vehemently on your lowness, but I must demand that you cease immediately. You must remember that I chose you, and that fact must now supplant all others in your mind. Am I clear?"

Your brows knitted together and you looked up at him questioningly. "Loki...does your brother truly call you evil?"

There was a moment's pause in which you caught your breath because what if, by not answering his question right away, you had irritated him even further, but then his eyes closed and his lips parted with peals of laughter. His hand fisted in your hair, but it wasn't too hard or painful at all—it was...pleasant. This sounded like real laughter, honest and unguarded, and when he was finally finished he bent low to press his lips to yours.

"He did not mean it, only implied that I was some foul demon keeping a damsel such as yourself locked away from the rest of the world. Then he insisted I bring you to dinner more often. I fear you will be subjected to my mother's ladies on a regular basis in the future. Many apologies, my lady."

Just as you were about to reply with some kind of assertion that it was no burden to dine with those ladies, there came a gentle knocking on the prince's door. He called out for the visitor to enter, and a tall, slender servant with blonde hair tied back into a knot at the back of her head entered. She looked about the room for a moment, clearly seeking a place to put the tray she carried.

"Here by the fire will be fine," Loki said. He didn't even look at her. If he had, he would undoubtedly have seen the way she looked at him. She looked like the girls from the ball when they bowed to the royals: moon-faced and starstruck. You were tempted to tell him to look at this servant if he wanted to see someone gazing at him with adoration like Rowan from the library, but you held your tongue lest you embarrass her. She put the tray down in front of the two of you, and you would have sat up but Loki's hand was still resting firmly against your forehead. The servant hesitated.

"Master Loki, if I am not interrupting, I was also given orders to apply this to the lady's wounds." She held out a small pot: some kind of ointment, probably, for the bruise. Loki's hand moved from your forehead to touch the tender skin below your eye.

"That will be fine," he said thoughtfully. "My lady's beauty has been marred by such injuries for far too long already. By all means." He helped you into a sitting position and then stood up. The girl sank to her knees next to you and dabbed out a bit of cream from the pot. As she smeared it across your face, you noticed two things. First, she was quite pretty, with clear blue eyes and a fine scattering of freckles across her nose; and second, that she was glaring at you with what appeared to be hatred.

When she caught you looking at her, she glanced over her shoulder and then hissed at you: "Don't get too comfortable, whore, because everyone knows you're only here to keep his bed warm until his real wife can arrive." Her words felt like a slap to the face. Where could you even begin to address them? You looked over the girl's shoulder to see if Loki was nearby and, if he was, whether he had heard her words. Maybe you were dreaming. She scooped out a bit more of the cream and continued to apply it, with rather more force that you would have thought necessary. "I saw what you were doing in the garden tonight, and you're disgusting. It's not going to work. My Master is going to marry a lady of good breeding and have his own palace, and you're going to wind up tending the fires. Filthy slag." With that, she dug her thumb into what must have been the very center of the bruise, and you pushed her away with a yelp.

"What are you doing?" You demanded, rising to your knees to back away from her. "What did I ever do to you? It's not my fault I'm here."

"But you certainly don't mind it, do you?" She was sneering at you. "Innocent little flower basking in all that attention from the prince. You're shameless. We all laugh at you, you know. I can't wait for the day he turns you away. He should never have brought you here, not when there are plenty of fine women right here in the palace."

"Like you?"

The voice came from behind her, and you got to watch her face go pale before she turned to face the prince. Loki strode over and hoisted her to her feet. "I'll not have you speak to my lady in such a manner. Apologize to her, or I'll have you and your entire family removed from the palace this very night."

You stood as well. This whole situation had gone from uncomfortable to...well, to even more uncomfortable. You didn't care about apologies. At this point, all you wanted was for the girl to just leave. But Loki was gripping her arm and she was twisting, trying to free herself from his grip. His eyes were locked fiercely on you.

"I'm sorry!" the girl managed. "Please forgive me, lady. I meant no harm."

"Alright," you said. It was painful to watch her try to escape. "Alright. Loki, please. She did nothing."

"She entered our chambers and spoke ill of you. I heard the whole thing. You call that nothing?"

"Loki." You tried to keep your voice low, coaxing. You just wanted the girl out of the room so you could eat, and then go to sleep. "What has she done? I am unharmed. Will you punish everyone for every imagined slight against me? Please, my lord prince. She has done no lasting offense. Will you release her so we may dine together?"

As you watched, the anger seemed to drain from the prince, and he let go of the girl with a huff. "Your lady," he informed her, "has been very kind to you despite your behavior, and you will do exceedingly well to remember that in the future before you deign to insult her before me or any other inhabitant of this palace. Now get out."

The girl nodded and skittered out of the room, though she did take the time in the doorway to offer you one last baleful stare. You wanted so desperately to roll your eyes at her behavior, but instead you turned your attention to the tray, to pour two mugs of tea. Loki was still standing. You could hear his fists clenching and relaxing at his sides, and his breaths were still coming fast and sharp.

"Sire, your tea will get cold, and then what was the point of having this tray sent up in the first place?"

A long, heavy exhale, and then he finally sank down next to you. You held out the mug to him, and he accepted it.

"So there is one other person in the palace with as low an esteem for you as you have for yourself," he said after several long sips of tea. You smiled at him. "But you see how foolish she is."

There were two small tureens on the tray as well, and when you lifted their lids, two thick stews began steaming at you merrily. They were joined by a plate heaping with bread. Soon the room was filled with the delicious aroma of the foods before you.

"Yes, Loki. She did not even wait to be sure you had left the room." It was a joke, of course, and you waited a moment or two before looking to your prince with a smile. Though harsh, her words had not shocked or injured you simply because they were truth.

Together you finished the stew and then sipped your tea, and then your found yourself stretched out on the rug once again with your head in your prince's lap. Between the meal, the tea, the fire, and the prince's fingers combing once more through your hair, your eyelids soon grew heavy. The next thing you knew, you were being lifted up into someone's arms. You startled awake and tightened your arms around their neck. You hadn't been lifted like this since you were very young.

"I did not mean to wake you, pet," the voice was soft like velvet against your ear. It reminded you immediately of where you were and who must, therefore, be holding you. "Though perhaps it is for the best. Dress on or off?"

Modesty or no, it took all of a moment's consideration of the dress's tight buttons and constricting bodice before you had your answer. "Off."

You waited for the prince to put you down, to allow you to stand on your own and undress yourself, but instead he placed you gently upon the soft furs that covered his bed. He knelt beside you on the mattress and, with a firm grasp on one hip, rolled you to one side to work the buttons on the back of your dress. They were quick work, and he allowed you to stretch out on your back again. Lit by the dying glow of the fire, he drew the dress down your body and trailed kisses behind it. His lips stopped first at your shoulder, and then your collarbone, along the swells of both of your breasts and then down between them. You squirmed ticklishly when his tongue dipped into your bellybutton, but couldn't help but shiver as he sank his teeth carefully into the curve of one of your hips.

Lithe fingers followed the material of the dress down the outsides of your thighs, and the fact that you kept your knees pressed tightly together did not escape his attention. Instead of fighting you, pressing them apart to take what, by all accounts should have rightfully been his long ago, he kissed both knees and let the dress sink forgotten to the floor next to the bed before lying next to you. Your head was spinning from the whole situation—not just the kisses, and certainly not just your own nakedness. You could not look over at the prince until you had finished struggling to cover yourself with one of the furs, and even then you were struck by shyness.

"You are stunning, my dear," he said. His voice held no calculation, only...admiration? You stole a peek at him, but he caught you and grinned. "Men would fight wars and lay waste to cities just for a look at your naked form." He dropped a kiss to your shoulder, and you fought the urge to hide your eyes.

"I hope that is not how you plan to motivate your armies, my lord prince?" It was primarily a joke, but your voice wavered just a bit as you remembered the tortures the prince had threatened you with not so long ago.

"Pet, when you are lying naked in my bed, does it not strike you as oddly formal to address me as your lord prince? Is my name so very hard to say?"

Truthfully, you had not given any thought to how you were addressing the man beside you, but perhaps the formality was another way to try to hide, to cover yourself. "Forgive me. Loki." Emboldened by the way his pupils dilated at the sound of his name falling from your lips, you reached out to run a finger through his sleek dark hair. Now his eyes closed and a pleasured hum emanated from somewhere in his throat. "My Loki."

The words felt odd, but not...wrong. The prince's eyes did not fly open with surprise, nor did his mouth curl into some arrogant smirk. Instead, he turned his head to press his lips against the tender underside of your wrist and inhaled deeply. After a few more moments, he opened his eyes, and the brilliance that stared out at you almost startled you.

"You are forgiven, pet. My pet. If there is a man who thinks himself worthy to look at you, he will have to come through me first. Sleep well, my love." He kissed your wrist one last time and then turned over onto his stomach, leaving you on your own. Before you could drift off as well, however, you remembered that you were to meet with the queen tomorrow. You remained stiff and silence on the mattress, lest you disturb the prince, but both your heart and your mind were racing. The list of possibilities were endless. She was sending you away. She was sending you to the servants' quarters. You had mortally offended someone and would be put to death. You were not fulfilling your duties and thus would be punished. It became harder and harder to breathe, but you tried to force the thoughts out of your mind as you turned onto your side facing the prince's sleeping body.

He had not bothered to cover himself, nor to remove his trousers, so he was lying there half-dressed and resplendent in the firelight. The muscles of his back moved ever so slightly as he breathed, as he shifted, and before you'd thought it through, you were reaching out to touch him. You traced your finger along his spine from his shoulder blades to the waist of his trousers and then back up again. When he didn't move, you continued to trace lazy spiraling patterns against his pale skin. His back was smooth and the fire must have warmed him because he was not cool to the touch tonight. There were a few scars marring the perfection of his skin, mostly pale and faded but still there marking where his wounds had once been. You traced them, too, and finally summoned enough courage to move closer in the bed and press a kiss to the biggest and darkest of the scars. It looked like it would have hurt.

When your lips touched his skin, the prince stirred a bit, but you did not pull away until he was turning over to look at you. You pulled away, but he followed and locked his fingers around your wrist.

"I thought you were asleep, sire," you mumbled. He pulled you closer and kissed you. It was soft, and not demanding.

"I rarely sleep. Why are you still awake?" Once again, his voice sounded perfect, unmarred by sleep. You shrugged. He would only dismiss your fears as ridiculous, after all. He released your hand and reached up to smooth your hair away from your face. "Is it about my mother?" But then again, you should have known that he would already know. There was no use in denying it, so you just nodded.

"I'm sorry. Loki, but it is just...different for me. I was raised to fear her. I was raised to fear all of you." You searched his face in the darkness, but his expression did not change. He was not laughing at you, and he was not angry with you.

"Your father has done you a greater disservice than you will ever know," he informed you with a puff of laughter. "You have nothing to fear from any of us." He paused for a moment, and then gave you a sinister grin. "Well, maybe just a bit from me, but you already knew that." All you could do was sink your teeth into your lower lip and try to keep your face expressionless. Apparently he saw what he needed to see, because he kissed you again and rolled onto his back, pulling you into his arms so your head was resting on his shoulder. "Just go to sleep, alright? The morning will come whether you do it or not, and I don't think you're going to want to fall asleep in front of her majesty the queen."

The thought was horrifying, and just enough to distract you from the feeling of Loki's skin against your chest. His fingers ghosted along your arm and up your shoulder, then back down again. The touch should have set you on edge and made it even harder to sleep, but instead it guided you down into the forgiving depths of sleep.

As before, Loki was gone the next morning when you opened your eyes. You buried your face in the pillow for a moment, unwilling to face the sunlight streaming in through the windows, before a quiet cough in the doorway made you pull the covers up over your shoulders and look up. Sindri stood there, grinning shyly and holding a tray.

"Good morning, my lady," she said. Her voice was soft. "Hungry?"

You groaned and hid your face again, remembering the queen's request. Your stomach was already twisting with your nervousness, but perhaps it would be unwise to go to her without eating anything at all. Surely the only thing worse than falling asleep in front of the woman would be a surprise appearance by your growling stomach. You sat up in the bed, careful to keep the blankets wrapped around your bare shoulders as the girl brought the tray over to the bed.

"Are you hurt, my lady?" She seemed hesitant, but leaned closer to look at you. "The prince, did he...are you hurt? Should I send someone to care for you?"

You couldn't help but smile at her concern as you picked up a mug of tea. "I am quite alright," you assured her. "Would you like some fruit? Bread?" She didn't seem to believe you at first, and hovered just out of reach. When you looked up and offered her a smile, though, she seemed convinced, and tucked some of the fruit into her apron. "The queen wants to see me today, so I'm just...anxious."

Sindri laughed and shook her head. "Don't be, my lady. The queen is lovely. She has been very kind to me. She is kind to all of us."

"The prince said the same thing. I am beginning to suspect that he was telling the truth." You quickly drained the rest of the tea and replaced the mug on the tray, but that was about as much as you could stomach. "You can have anything else you want. I cannot eat."

She studied you for a few more moments with concern in her eyes, but then scooped up a slice of toasted bread. She spoke between bites, seemingly recounting every story she could remember of the queen's kindness, or beauty, or anything else she could think of, and by the time she was finished, you were almost feeling better about the whole situation. Sindri helped you into your gown of soft green silk, and worked your hair back into a braid.

"There, my lady," she said, coming around to look at you again. "You look wonderful. There is nothing to fear, I promise. Are you ready?"

Absolutely not, but it wasn't as though you had any other choice. So, with a pounding heart and shaky knees, you allowed her to lead you through the palace to a great set of doors more ornate than any you had seen so far.

"The throne room," she whispered. "Go on, she will be waiting for you."

It hardly felt right for you to touch the doors to open them, such was their finery, but you did, and stepped into the golden light of the room. It was not until your eyes adjusted that you realized the queen was sitting at the top of a flight of stairs, but when you did finally see her, you sank into the deepest curtsy that you could manage. "Your Highness," you murmured.

There was a long silence, and then you heard soft footsteps descending the staircase to you. She would be standing in front of you, then. It was hard to breathe. The queen—the queen—was standing in front of you. She could see you, how pathetic and out of place you were.

"Rise, child," her voice was kind, and it almost sounded as though she were smiling. Soft fingers were pressed to your chin, all but forcing you to look up at her. "My sons do not bow to me. I daresay I will not be forcing you to." You stood up straighter, though it was still difficult to look at her. "That's better. Come sit with me." She took your hand and led you over to the stairs.

"You wished to speak with me, my Queen?" You managed after the two of you had found a seat. The queen—the queen—was sitting there on the steps with you, and she had yet to let go of your hand.

"Are you happy here, child?"

What sort of question was that? You found yourself staring at her with disbelief for longer than you really should have, but then you nodded fiercely. "Yes, my Queen. Yes, of course. It is wonderful here, thank you so very much for your kindness."

"You are taken care of? The servants see to your needs?"

"Of course, my Queen. They have all been wonderful." Was this about the servants, then? "Your Highness, if I offended you that night at dinner, or made anybody look foolish or was out of line, then I apologize, truly, with every fiber of my being. I—"

You heard her laugh, and then her hand was on your shoulder. "No, child. Do not worry yourself over that." She leaned in closer, and her voice took on a conspiratorial tone. "I have been paying very close attention to that man for a long time now. If you had not risen to stop him, I would have. You merely saw him first. Thank you for sparing my girl that humiliation."

You sputtered uncertainly, looking for some kind of response but coming up empty. All you could manage was a weak smile. She seemed to accept it.

"And my son? He treats you well?"

She would be talking about Loki, of course. You nodded again, still searching for words. "Yes, my Queen. The prince is...very kind to me." It was not the whole truth, but it also was not a complete lie. And she saw right through you. She sighed and took your hand again.

"I know he can be difficult, but he is my son, and I love him. He can be very sweet."

"Yes, ma'am." It was strange to think about Loki being sweet. He could be kind, of course, in his way, but you were not certain you could ever call it "sweet". Sweetness did not typically have that faint threat of danger lurking beneath the surface. But of course you would not argue with the Queen over the sweetness of her son. That would be suicide, pure and simple, no matter how kind the woman was supposed to be.

"He will be needing someone," she said thoughtfully. "He is well past the age my husband was when we married."

Your throat felt dry. That was the second mention of Loki's marriage in less than a day. Perhaps that blonde servant from the night before hadn't been making everything up. You hadn't given her words another thought, but it would make sense for her to know more than she should. People often spoke in front of those of the lower class without thinking. Would you be able to call the girl back to you one night? What else did she know about this potential wife?

She was looking at you expectantly, and you realized with a jolt that she must have asked you a question. Your face flushed scarlet and you grimaced. "Forgive me, my Queen, but...what did you say?"

She looked at you a bit strangely. "I said, what are your thoughts, child?"

As though you really had a choice! You fought to keep a neutral expression whilst coming up with a suitable answer. "I...absolutely understand that, my Queen. A man needs a good wife."

"And...?"

There was more? Why did the thought of Loki marrying some noble-born lady—as he was meant to—make your stomach feel like it was sinking? It sounded like it would be happening soon, even, which would mean that you would not have to give yourself to him if you were careful. Would you be sent away? Would you be sent to the servants' quarters after all? Would you be allowed to return home? The world was a much kinder place for a woman with virginity intact than a palace whore. It was really in your best interest to keep yourself pure. But then a terrible thought struck you: would you be expected to serve the prince and his new wife? The thought of bringing breakfast to some beautiful woman in the prince's bed inspired a curious twinge of jealousy, but you had to fight that back. You had no justification for it. And it was just strange. You swallowed hard.

"And...my Queen, I will happily fulfill whatever role is assigned to me upon the prince's marriage." Surely that was appropriate, was it not? No, you had said something wrong somewhere along the line, because the queen laughed, short and dry but fill of mirth. "Your Highness?"

She took your face in both of her hands and, despite the fear that practically paralyzed you, you noted that her hands smelled like the white flowers from the garden. "Ridiculous child..." she said, and pressed her forehead to yours. Something was very, very strange. "You misunderstand. I do not intend for you to serve my son and his wife. I mean for you to marry him."

No. You would have jerked away from the woman above you if you could, scrambled backwards down the stairs and run from the room. But she still held you with a tender grasp, so the most you could do was close your eyes and shake your head as vigorously as possible.

"My Queen, I am deeply honored. Deeply and truly honored, but there has been a mistake. I am not who you think I am. I come from a tiny village. I have no breeding. My family has no money and no land, and certainly no power. I am sorry you have been led so astray, and I never meant to fool anyone, but please, Your Highness, I am not fit to marry a prince." How could your background have escaped her knowledge? What if Loki had lied to his parents? Would they punish you for it?

Without thinking about it, you raised your hands to the Queen's, to pull them away from your face, but the instant you touched her you froze. How dare you touch royalty? So there you were, sitting on the steps of the throne room with the Queen of the land, clutching her hands whilst she cupped your cheeks. You did not even realize you were crying until she was brushing hot tears away with her thumbs and hushing you in a gentle voice.

"There now, don't cry. Look at me, darling, no tears. Why are you so frightened?"

There was no harm in honesty at this point. Everything was falling apart anyway. "I am afraid that you are angry with me."

"Whatever for?" The amused exasperation in her voice simultaneously relieved you and shamed you. The poor woman, having to deal with a trembling nobody when she should be running the palace.

"You...have been misled. I am no lady." Would it be worse to sniffle in front of the Queen, or to let your nose drip? You had no handkerchief.

"You are lady enough for the prince," she said. "And I do not care about noble backgrounds or money or land. We have plenty enough of that already. Loki chose you from all of the others at the ball, and I think you know as well as I what will happen if we try to go against his wishes." She smiled at you, and that one expression was enough to justify every single story that Sindri had told you about the woman's kindness. "You are no prisoner here, and no slave—even to my son. If you are opposed to the idea, you will go free."

"No..." You spoke before you were even conscious of the answer forming in your mind. Were you actually opposed to the idea, strongly enough to ask to be sent away? The prince was mercurial and sometimes downright frightening, but realistically, was he any worse than your father or any of the men in your village? "My Queen, I am...honored."

"Yes, you've said that." She was smiling again—or still?—and brushed her thumbs over your cheeks one last time before releasing you. "There now, is that better? And before you go getting worked up again, if the prince is to propose, he will presumably do it on his own. We have not summoned people from across the land to attend your wedding. Nothing has changed. I just needed to be sure of you, that is all."

You nodded. There wasn't much else you could actually do at the moment, and you didn't trust your voice to speak. You drew in a shaky breath to try to steady your heart and calm your nerves. The Queen squeezed your hands reassuringly, and glanced towards the doorway. "You are excused, child. I believe there is someone waiting outside for you."

Still, you waited for her to rise to her feet before you dared to do the same, and you couldn't help but sink into a curtsy before backing down the stairs. Despite her admonition, you had been raised in a certain way, and you could not turn your back to royalty like the queen. You kept your eyes fixed on the ground even as you backed out of the throne room. Your nerves were still wound so tightly that you couldn't keep yourself from gasping when a pair of arms encircled your waist.

You spun around and found yourself looking up into the face of—who else?—Loki. Unabashedly, you threw your arms around his waist and buried your face in his neck. If he was surprised, he did not show it as he threaded his fingers through your hair and held you tightly. "My lady, what happened? Are you alright?"

"I am fine," you murmured into the solid curve of his neck. You felt rather foolish after your encounter with the queen, and all you really wanted to do was hide yourself away from everybody. Failing that, standing here with the prince would do. Who would dare interrupt the two of you, after all?

Loki turned you around so that your back was pressed against the wall, and then stood before you as though shielding you from anybody walking by. It was hard to look at him, but he slid one hand along your cheek and guided your face upwards, so really you had no choice. His eyes narrowed as he looked at you, but he did not move in to kiss you until you managed a watery smile.

"What did she say in there?" You couldn't blame him for being curious, but the thought of repeating everything she had said was very difficult.

"She asked if I was happy here."

"And what did you say?" His eyes were trained on your face, sharp and probing as ever. For a moment you thought it strange that he would care so much about your answer but then you thought about the way he had been behaving lately and realized that it was not so strange after all. Suddenly shy once more, you ducked your head to try to escape those eyes, but he stooped down to follow you. "My lady?"

"Yes." It was a whisper. You straightened your shoulders and met his eyes again, unable to hold back your smile. "I said yes, Loki."

He laughed a little, and you might almost have called it a sound of relief, but before you could put much more thought into it, his mouth was on yours. He pressed still closer to you, and his knee rode high between your legs as he dominated, then explored, your mouth. Even the knowledge that the Queen might still be in the next room couldn't keep a soft moan from escaping your lips, but the prince devoured it hungrily.

It was you who broke the kiss. You pushed against Loki's chest and turned your head away to draw in a breath, but he just took hold of your wrists to pin them against the wall and turned his attentions to your neck. Between kisses, he sank his teeth into tender flesh carefully, apparently knowing just how hard he could bite before the pain would override the pleasure, and though you struggled against his hands for a moment, you soon gave in and just stood there trying not to moan aloud.

"You make such noises, pet," he breathed against your ear. "Little gasps, moans, whimpers. Do you want someone to see us?"

The idea was horrifying. You shook your head, trying to find your voice, but he chuckled against the skin of your throat and then his teeth were slicing again. You had to bite your lip to keep from crying out, but you couldn't stop the whining hum, and Loki pulled away with a grin. "Would you like to go somewhere more private, love?"

You swallowed hard and nodded without thinking about it, and Loki took your hand and led you down the corridor.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't figure out how to warn about smut without spoiling anything, so...here there be smut. If you don't care for it, drop me a line, and I'll do some hasty chopping and send you a version of this chapter without it. It's also a bit...questionable, in terms of consent, but it's not out-and-out violent or forced. I'm guessing that if you've made it this far in the story without being triggered all to hell, the dubious consent probably won't be a problem, but I really really don't want to hurt anyone or freak them out. If you're worried, again, let me know, and I'll send you a version of this with that stuff pulled out.
> 
> Other than that, I'd like to thank Belle for being brilliant and helping me spread the word about this story and Iruna and CloudySky in particular for your long and wonderful comments on every chapter, not to mention every other reader who has taken the time to leave a comment or give me kudos or are even just still reading period, because you're all fantastic. Honestly, there are times when I get stuck and I'm tempted to walk away for a while, but then I remember that there are lots of you out there who really seem to be enjoying this story and pffft that's not really fair to you, so here we are. 
> 
> Blaaaah enough of the sap. I hope you like this chapter.

His mouth was on yours before the door had even clicked shut behind you, his hands grasping at your hips and pulling you up against his body as he walked you backwards. You stumbled a bit when the backs of your legs hit the side of his bed, but he merely lifted you up against his body and then guided you down onto the center of the mattress. He kept one arm around your back, pulling you closer, holding you tightly. His mouth traveled back down your neck, kissing and sucking and biting, and it didn't make sense to you that your body was reacting so strongly to his touch when just a few days ago you couldn't stand to be near him, but you threaded your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck and pulled tightly as you bit back another moan. 

Did it matter?

His hand slipped between the two of you now, bunching your skirt up and creeping beneath it. The feel of his fingers against the inside of your thigh made you shiver, but not in the way you would have expected. You wanted more of this. Not even an hour before, you had been relieved to realize that you might not have to give yourself to the prince, and yet here you found yourself practically panting for his touch. 

The shock of the thought made you pull away as much as you could and turn your head to the side to draw in a steadying breath, but the prince simply moved his mouth to your neck again, trailing his lips along your throat and jawline and up behind your earlobe. “Loki...” Your voice was laughable: hoarse and breathy. Finally you took his face in your hands and pushed him away just enough to break the spell he seemed to hold on you, though the patterns he was tracing on the tender skin of your thigh were still quite distracting. He looked at you questioningly. “I...I don't know what this...is.” Yet again, your cheeks burned hot, and you couldn't look away. Of course you knew what this was. You just weren't sure what it meant. Would he laugh at you? Grow frustrated? Stalk away somewhere and leave you to your own devices?

Perhaps you should have known better by now. The corners of his lips curled up a little and he turned his head to kiss your palm. “Don't you?” The hand that rested between your legs moved higher now, and you could feel him brushing a finger against you through your knickers. Before you could think—or stop yourself, you were arching your hips to press still closer, needing without knowing exactly what you needed. “Let me show you.”

The weight of his body was gone, then, and he was moving down the bed to settle between your legs. He pushed your skirts even higher. The exposure should have made you want to kick him away and run somewhere safer, but even when the chill air of the castle kissed your skin and he hooked his fingers through the top of your knickers, you couldn't find the desire to escape. He tugged them off of you and, presumably, let them drop to the floor beside the bed as he had done last night with your dress. Was this...when he'd asked if you'd wanted to go somewhere with more privacy, was he actually asking something entirely different? As always, he seemed to read your mind, and gave a short laugh as he pressed your knees apart. 

“This is not what you think, gentle pet,” he said, and the sight of him grinning up at you from between your legs made you want to hide your face. But he held your gaze as one slim finger sought, then found, entry. He was moving slowly, teasing you, and the look in his eyes promised that there would be much more before he was through. He lowered his face to kiss your stomach just below your navel and then—oh. _Oh_.

Your first instinct was to close your legs, push him away, cover yourself. Surely people didn't actually _do_ things like that. It was a trick, and in a moment he would pull back and laugh at your lack of experience. But he kept one hand pressed against one of your knees—he would not let you close yourself off so easily—and moved his tongue against that most sensitive part of your body, and you decided that you didn't care if it was a trick or if he would laugh at you, because it felt...wonderful. He pulled you into his mouth and your fingers came down to grip in his hair.

He drew you close to the edge and let you slip backwards again, then added another finger and did it again. As time passed, your need (and frustration) mounted, until you were bucking your hips against his mouth and gasping out something wordless and pleading. Hazily, you remembered the first time he'd touched you, the strange demand, and fought to form the words he wanted to hear.

“Please.” 

He hummed a response, and his fingers twisted inside you in a way that was not quite enough. Your breath was erratic, your body thrumming with desperation. “Loki, please. Just let me come. I need...” 

But you couldn't finish the sentence. You didn't need to. He hummed something else, and you couldn't be sure what he was saying, but it was finally enough. You shuddered and your fingers locked in his hair, but he didn't stop, didn't stop even as you rocked against him and rode out your climax. 

When your breathing finally began to return to normal, you dragged your eyes open and realized that the prince was watching you intently. He grinned again and slipped his fingers into his mouth all without breaking eye contact with you. You couldn't speak—though even if you could, what would you have said? Your head fell backwards against the mattress and you let one arm flop across your eyes. Your whole body felt limp and mostly sated, though there was a fire still burning somewhere inside you. This was not over.

Loki stretched out above you once again, taking hold of your wrist to drag your arm away from your face. He kissed you, and you tasted yourself mixed with the now-familiar taste of his mouth. You couldn't stop a shiver from running the length of your body, but it was...it was good.

“Alright, pet?” His voice was low, and when you finally ventured a look at him, the heat in his eyes startled you yet again. You swallowed thickly and nodded. Why was it so difficult to find words? Hesitantly, you brushed your hand against his cheek. 

He moved off of you, though he stayed on his side with his head propped up, still looking at you. There were no demands in his face, only interest and something like affection. You sucked your lower lip between your teeth to wet it, and his eyes followed the tiny motion hungrily. The air was heavy, heavy the way it had been before the dinner with the royal family, but this time you didn't feel the need to hide. This time all you could feel your answer, your body's answer to his unspoken question. Maybe it was because of the queen's revelation, or maybe it was because you were finally comfortable enough here, but you met the prince's gaze and remembered his words. His promise.

“Yes.” 

At first, his eyes narrowed with confusion, but as you watched, the realization flashed across his face. He was careful to hide it again, of course, as he reached over to smooth a lock of your hair behind your ear. “My lady?”

“Yes.” Your voice was stronger now, even as your heartbeat quickened under the prince's sharp gaze. 

“You're going to have to be more specific, pet. I cannot read your mind.”

“I want it.”

But still his face remained carefully blank. It made sense that he would make you speak the words aloud, but the idea was daunting. 

“Loki. I want...you.”

He smiled wryly, but otherwise kept his face the very picture of innocence. “So do many others. What makes you any different?”

With mounting frustration, you sat up and rubbed your eyes. Maybe you were not ready after all, if you could not bring yourself to say it directly. It was strange that someone in your position could still have so much pride, but the words would not come. Just as you were about to tell the prince that no, nevermind, there was nothing that made you any different, there was a gentle tug at the tie on the back of your gown.

“I want you too.” The bed shifted—he was kneeling behind you now, and his fingers slowly unraveled the back of your dress. He sank his teeth carefully into your shoulder. “I've wanted you for a very long time.” He squeezed your hips. “Stand up. Face me. Take it off.” Wordlessly, you did as he asked, and though he had already seen you nude several times before, you could not watch his face as the dress fell into a puddle around your feet. There was a rustling, and the prince's tunic joined it on the floor. He slid off of the bed and pulled you into his arms.

“You are certain?” He cupped your breast in the palm of his hand and rolled your nipple beneath his thumb. You nodded, but knew that would not be enough for him, so you raised your eyes to meet his. 

“Yes, my prince. Please.” Despite your nerves, you found yourself smiling at him. He moved his hand from your breast to your cheek and stooped slightly to kiss you.

“Undress me, then.” He rested his forehead against yours. His eyes were dark and yet...reassuring, somehow. He waited patiently this time as you fumbled with his belt, and when you pushed his trousers down to his ankles, you sank to your knees at his feet. This was the first time you had seen him completely nude, and the sight took your breath away. You looked up at him along the length of his body, and without a word you took him into your mouth. 

His hand came down to grip your shoulder as you swirled your tongue along his length and worked him in and out of your mouth. As before, he filled your senses—the way he smelled, the way he tasted, the way he was twitching and throbbing in your mouth: it was almost overwhelming. With one hand wrapped around the base of his cock and the other gripping his hip, you did your best to bring him to the edge the way he had done for you. Just as you were falling into a rhythm and listening for the pleasured growls that you knew would rumble through his chest, he pushed you away.

“If you want to go through with this,” he managed in a strained voice. “You have to stop now.” 

He extended a hand to help you to your feet, then lifted you onto the mattress. This was going to happen. Now it was your turn to offer your hand in invitation. Because as quickly as your heart was racing, there was no hesitation within it. Loki positioned himself between your legs once again and closed his mouth over yours. You could feel him pressing against your entrance, and at first it was good, but then a sharp pain stabbed through your recently-pleasured limbs and you fought back a cry.

Something was wrong. You had made a mistake.

“No...” You pushed against his chest, hands turning into claws as you fought to push him off of you. “Loki, it hurts. Stop...”

He responded by gripping your wrists in his hands and pinning them to the mattress on either side of your head. “No. You asked for this, and I am not going to stop until we are finished.” And the intrusion did not stop. He was pushing his way into you, through resisting flesh, and though you struggled against him, his grasp held. Was it always like this? Perhaps the warnings you had grown up hearing were not necessarily about remaining pure, but about putting off this pain for as long as possible? “It always hurts at first, love, just give it time.”

How could you give it time? True, it was hardly the worst pain you had ever felt, but the intimacy of this made it all the more terrible. You were open and vulnerable to the prince. You were at his mercy. And you had _asked_ for it. You had _asked_ him to do this to you, practically begged for it. But then, was this not what he had intended all along? You had to choke back the sob that rose in your chest, but stopped fighting him and did your best to merely remain still on the mattress. After a moment he stopped, and you realized that his hips were finally pressing against yours.

“Open your eyes.” It was a command, but his voice was soft. In any case, it made you realize that you had clenched your eyes shut in order to block him out. You eased them open, and were surprised to find that the prince's brow was wrinkled with concern. “Does it still hurt?”

He moved cautiously, almost imperceptibly, and as he did, the pain began to lessen. Even more remarkable, as it did, a strange pleasure was taking its place. Your body was adapting, stretching to accommodate your prince, and as he moved, he was stoking the embers that still burned inside you. Slowly, almost disbelieving, you shook your head. 

He released your wrists, then, and supported himself on his elbows in order to hold your face in both hands. “Do you still want to stop?”

You reached up to smooth your fingertips along his eyebrows and down his cheeks as you considered it. What was done was done, wasn't it? And if you were past the worst part, why shouldn't he continue? And...if you were very honest with yourself...you still wanted it. So you dragged the prince's mouth down to meet yours and kissed him as hard as you could before your shyness took over again and you pulled back. You shook your head again. “Forgive me, Loki.”

“Nothing to forgive,” he replied as he slowly withdrew from you, only to ease his way back in. There was less pain this time, and soon the only thing you felt as he moved within you was a slick heat and a growing desire. Your moans returned, escaping unchecked as he took you slowly but thoroughly. “That's better,” he murmured against your skin. “I'd rather hear my lady's pleasure than her fear any day.”

“Loki...” You turned your face away to try to escape his words, but couldn't hide your smile. Were people supposed to talk during something like this? Though he was the prince, so perhaps if he wished to talk, he would do it regardless. He followed your lips with his and captured them in another searing kiss before reaching down to brush his thumb against you. The touch sent you spiraling closer and closer to another climax with each thrust, and soon you were clutching his shoulders and murmuring his name without meaning to. When you finally came around him, he sank his teeth into your skin where your neck met your shoulders and the pain was just enough to draw out and accent the sweet torture that flooded through your body.

Your muscles had not even begun to relax after your own climax when the prince was growling something against your skin. His movements became jerky, uncoordinated, and after several more hard thrusts he dropped his head to your shoulder, breathing hard against your skin. You stroked his back and found yourself trying to memorize all the little twitches and stretches of the muscles you felt there. 

The next time the prince moved, it was to pull himself away and collapse on his back beside you. You turned onto your side to study him, and realized with a pang that your nails had apparently cut into his skin—four half-moons glowed crimson against the pale top of each shoulder. You reached out your hand to touch them apologetically, and he turned his head to examine them as well.

“Welcome battle wounds,” he said. Were you blushing? Did it matter? He caught your hand with his and tugged lightly until your head was on his chest as it had been last night. You shaped your body against his and, feeling bold, draped your arm across his stomach to hold him to you. He responded by tightening his arm around your shoulders, a welcome and peaceful embrace after...well, that. It was then that you realized you could hear his heart beating beneath your ear, and you laid there in silence for a while, listening and breathing and trying not to think about what this would change. 

Loki seemed to have fallen asleep by the time your next thought struck you. His seed. Your whole body jolted as you realized that you had taken no precautions. His fingers combed through your bed-mussed hair, reminding you that of course he had not fallen asleep.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. 

“My lord, what if I should become... that is... Sire, what if there is a child?” 

“Then there will be a child.” His voice was languid, lazy. Of course he would not be as concerned as you. “It will make my mother happy, in any case.” You could hear the smile in his voice, but it did nothing to calm the churning in your stomach. “What? You will not be sent away. Surely you have come to understand that by now.” 

“Of course.” But even that knowledge would not dismiss your fears. It was not the banishment you feared, anyway. You were no mother. You'd had no practice, no kind motherly figure in your life. What would you do with a child, assuming you even survived the birth?

The prince must have found your silence dissatisfying, because you felt him move to get a better look at you. You simply closed your eyes and tried to focus on listening only to his heartbeat.

“My lady, what are you afraid of?”

“Childbirth is dangerous.” It was enough of an answer. Part of you was sorry you had even brought the subject up. If it was the prince's will that you bear his child, you could hardly argue very strongly against it. If it was nature's will that you even conceive a child, how could you stop it at this point? He stroked your cheek, tugged affectionately on your hair.

“Your mother. You fear it because it took her from you.” It should not have been so shocking to you that he would remember that, but your eyes still opened wide with surprise. At least he could not see your face. “I will summon the best physicians in all of Asgard. They will not leave your side until you are well again. No one, not even death, will take you from me. Darling, do not be so frightened.”

It was easier said than done. Still, you swallowed hard and nodded against his chest, though you would not raise your head to look at him. If you had trusted your voice, you probably should have been thanking him, but instead you worried your lower lip between your teeth. It was best to change the subject, or else let the silence stretch on between you, because it seemed wrong to provoke an argument after all that had just happened.

But of course the prince was not to be fooled. His chest heaved with a sigh and he wound his fingers through your hair. “My lady is not convinced.” 

You didn't speak. You couldn't speak. What was there to say?

“There is a plant in my mother's garden,” he finally said. “Any woman who eats the leaves will not conceive a child. I will have it brought to you every day until you are less nervous. Does that sound better?” His voice was low and tinged with a note of amusement. You did not even bother to try to hide your relief as you tightened your arm around him in an embrace.

“Yes. Thank you.” You raised your head to look up at the prince, who was studying you with concern in his eyes. When he caught you looking, his face smoothed into an easy smile, and you couldn't help but wonder how many other people had ever seen him looking like this. He was so relaxed, and his face was so...open and unlike any other time you'd ever seen him. You couldn't help yourself: you stretched up and kissed him—not hard or intensely, as that seemed like it might ruin the moment. You kissed him because you weren't quite sure how else to say what you wanted to say. 

It seemed like he understood. He stroked the back of your neck and made no effort to deepen the kiss, and released you when you moved to rest your head on his shoulder again. But after only a few more moments, the feeling of lying there in bed with various bodily fluids drying on your skin finally overcame the feeling of lying there beside the prince, and you had to sit up. “I should...clean up a bit, sire.”

“Wait.” He closed his fingers around your wrist and looked at you thoughtfully. “I have a better idea. Just put your dress on, and come with me.”

What was he planning? You studied him and tried not to narrow your eyes in suspicion. Was he going to parade you all over the palace with his seed still coating your thighs? Was that how he would demonstrate his...his ownership of you? Perhaps this had been an even bigger mistake than you had initially thought. It was true that realistically, you had no way to refuse him—not without making him angry or spoiling the moment—but at the same time, it was still difficult to accept that this would be your new life. It was mortifying...and sticky.

“Trust me.” He sat up and retrieved your dress from the floor. “Put it on.”

Still wary, you slid off of the bed and dressed, careful not to stain the fine silk. You struggled for a moment to fasten the back of the dress, but before long, you could feel Loki's elegant fingers gliding along your back. He pulled at the strings, and pressed his lips to your shoulder. “Breathe, pet.” It was his turn to slide off the bed, and you kept your eyes fixed on the ground as he dressed. When he was finally finished, he held out his hand to you. 

When you didn't take it, he stooped and took your hand in his, tugging lightly. “Come. I promise it will not be as bad as you're telling yourself it will be.” You looked up at him now, and he flashed you a dazzling grin that seemed to confirm his promise. At the very least, your dress was long enough that people wouldn't actually see anything. With a sigh that you tried (and likely failed) to hide, you allowed him to pull you to your feet and lead you out into the corridor.

“Sometime soon I will arrange for a servant to teach you the palace, so that you may move about freely. Perhaps after dinner. But until then, I have other plans.” He kept his fingers laced through yours as you walked, and you did begin to recognize the path as being the same one you'd taken to the garden before. Sure enough, you eventually stepped outside and had to blink several times before your eyes adjusted to the harsh light of the midday sun.

Loki led you to the pond in the middle of the garden, though this was apparently a different side. You were far from the wooden platform, and the ground sloped gradually into the water, turning from brilliant grass to a rich mud. None of this still made any sense to you—not until the prince started to pull his tunic up over his head. 

“It's more fun than a bath,” was the only explanation he offered you as he dropped his clothing into a pile in the grass. 

Swimming. You shook your head vigorously and took a few more steps away from the water for good measure. “My lord, I told you I cannot swim. Please, don't make me.”

“I can teach you,” he said simply. “It is easy. My brother and I have spent many long afternoons in the water.” Without waiting for another word from you, he closed the distance between you and tugged at the ties on your dress. “You'll want to remove this, though, or it might weigh you down once it's gotten wet.” He started to pull it down over your shoulders, but you crossed your arms in front of your chest defensively. 

“Please don't, my lord. Anyone could see. And I do not like the water. I'll watch you swim instead. Or I could just come and...stand in the water.”

“Everyone knows not to look at you, pet, and you want to clean yourself, don't you? Look at all this water waiting for you. Lower your arms.”

He was still smiling, but there was an edge to his voice, a warning. As kind and caring as the prince had been to you lately, the fact remained that he was still a prince, and thus unaccustomed to being denied. Still you hesitated, thinking about what might happen if you insisted upon staying dry. He might throw you into the pond anyway, or perhaps lock you back up in your room. With a shaky sigh, you clenched your eyes shut but let your arms fall to your sides. He guided the dress down your body, and tossed it aside as well. You felt his hands come up to cover your breasts from behind, and he breathed hot against your ear: “Good girl.”

You stood there for a few more moments, neither of you moving, until finally you felt him nudging your knees forward. “Into the water. We will go as slowly as you'd like.”

With your eyes still closed tightly, you began to take very small steps toward the water. Warm mud squelched around your toes, and then you could feel the water start to lick at your ankles. It was hard, but you managed to keep your breathing steady, even as you felt the water rise up to your knees, and then your thighs, and finally your waist. It was warm, but you couldn't help but shiver.

“Did you watch your best friend drown, my lady? Did your brother throw you into a well when you were younger?” You might have expected him to sound irritated or mocking, but his voice was even. 

“No,” you answered, a bit defensively. You swallowed hard. “I merely never learned to swim. The only water in my village comes from a small stream with very swift waters. All of the children are taught to avoid it. We have no need of knowing how to swim.” 

He pushed you just a little bit further into the water, and soon it was up to your shoulders. At least your breasts would be covered. His touch slipped away, and then you felt him walk around to stand in front of you and extend his arms. “Now come to me.”

But as you walked forward to obey, he kept moving backwards, until you could just barely touch the bottom of the water with your tip-toes. Without thinking about it, you began treading water to try to keep your head above, kicking off of the bottom to move faster. Your frustration grew along with your panic, but he stopped and swam forward just as you were about to beg him to stop. “Take a deep breath and relax,” he said as he placed one hand on the small of your back and the other on your shoulder. Was he going to force you under? You gulped in several deep breaths just in case, and tried not to cry out as he guided you backwards, but you were able to relax just slightly as you realized that he was keeping his hand firmly against your back. Soon you realized that he was helping you to float. Little rivulets of water streamed down your breasts as they emerged from the surface of the pond, and you instinctively reached to cover yourself, but you started to sink almost immediately, so you had to move your arms away again. 

“We are far from dry land, my lady, and even farther from the palace. There is no one here to admire your beauty except for me. Your modesty will remain intact, I assure you.”

Still, your cheeks burned as you continued taking deep, even breaths. As time went by, you were even able to feel almost comfortable in the water. Just then, Loki took hold of one of your arms and pulled it up over your head in the water. “To move, force your hands down through the water in whatever direction you wish to go. Like this,” and then he demonstrated. You dipped down in the water momentarily, but mimicked the motion with the arm he was not holding. You moved! It took you a few more tries to find a fluid motion, but soon you were paddling through the water with some amount of ease. You sat up and went back to treading water so that you could look at your prince. He was watching you with no small amount of pride etched on his features. “You've got it.”

“I'm...a fast learner.” You weren't entirely sure what to say in response to that.

“I know that.” He smirked, and despite the water cooling on your face, you could feel your cheeks start to burn.

Eager to change the subject, you cast about for something else to say. “How deep is this water, anyway?”

Without a word, the prince sank below the surface. At first, everything seemed fine—he was probably going down to touch the bottom or stand up or something, to show you. But eventually the water around the place where he disappeared grew still and calm, undisturbed even by air bubbles breaking the surface. Something cold and steely settled in the pit of your stomach, something stronger than the panic you'd felt when you first walked into the water. This was different. 

“Loki?” Your voice cracked as you called his name and fought to peer into the murky water around you. No response, of course. Something brushed against your ankle and you fought the scream that rose in your throat, telling yourself that it was just one of the fish you'd seen in the water before. Did they only light up at night? If only they would do it now, so you could see deeper into the water, see whether the prince was in distress nearby. It didn't matter much that he had spent so much time in the water if his foot had suddenly gotten wedged under a rock or something, did it? You kicked your feet, kicking to keep your head above the water as you groped blindly through the depths. “Loki!” 

The panic was choking you now, and you yelped when that fish brushed against your foot again. A part of you felt terrible for undoubtedly kicking the poor thing away, but you had bigger things to worry about. Like the prince drowning. Like being blamed for the prince's death. You stopped kicking and let yourself sink into the water, but it was too dark to see anything, and it stung your eyes. Still, you tried again and again, circling the place where you thought he had gone under and trying not to think about how you would get him to the surface if you found him. You could barely keep yourself afloat—how would you be able to rescue him? And forget about trying to pull him to shore: you were, in fact, incredibly far from dry land, let alone from the palace or anyone who could help you.

Finally, you had to give up searching for him, and fought your way back to the surface. After you had sucked in enough air to stop your lungs from burning, you started to make your way to dry land. Maybe if you shouted loud enough, ran fast enough, you could find someone who was better at swimming than you and who could possible rescue him before he succumbed to the water. It took a few moments, but soon you realized that you were not actually going anywhere. Something was wrapped around your ankle and was actually pulling you away from the shore. You choked back a scream and reached under the water to claw at whatever was holding you. It was cold and...fleshy? Definitely not plant material. Were there other creatures hiding in the depths? There was no way it was one of those light-fish things: they were too small, and this too large. Still, you dug your nails into whatever it was, but it held tight. You kicked with your free leg, and connected firmly with something large and solid, and finally felt its grasp loosen.

Before you could head back towards land, however, it burst up through the water and wrapped itself around you, pulling you down under with it You gasped in surprise before you could stop yourself, and just enough water filled your lungs to make you choke. It felt like it held you under for ages, though if your mind had been working rationally, and not racing with adrenaline, you probably would have realized it was only a second or two. Finally, it dragged you back into the sweet, fresh air of the garden, and though your heart was racing and your head was spinning, you finally realized what had been terrorizing you.

“Loki,” you sputtered, and pummeled his chest with your shaking fists until he released you and backed away from you in the water. “What were you doing?” You were practically screaming, and the fact that you had just hit the royal prince—repeatedly—did not even faze you. He held up his arms as though in surrender.

“It's alright, darling. It was a joke.”

“Some joke!” You made several pathetic attempts at splashing him before you started to sink under the water and had to start treading water again. “I thought you were drowning.”

He laughed and reached for you, but you did your best to swim out of reach. Finally, he seemed to realize that you were not joining him in his laughter. “Were you really that frightened?” He swam closer, but, to his credit, did not reach out to you again.

There was really no point in lying, as the question was largely rhetorical anyway. You sighed as your heart rate slowly returned to normal. “Yes.”

Now he would unquestionably smirk at you, maybe say something like “So it turns out you do like me a little bit after all” or “But if I died, you would be free to go back home,” and you would either have to avoid looking at his face or reveal that you were actually beginning to enjoy living with him at the palace. It was a stroke of luck that you were getting tired already, drained from your desperate flailing through the water—it would make it easier to merely duck your head and take whatever gloating he decided to do.

But he remained silent for a long time, allowing the sounds of the water and the various creatures around you to fill in for him. Tired of treading water, you drew in another deep breath and floated on your back. That was better. The water filled your ears, but it wasn't as though there was really all that much to listen to, and now that you didn't have to fight to stay above the water, you were actually able to relax again. 

After you had been floating there for a while with your eyes closed, focusing on nothing but the sound of your breathing and the water around you, you felt something touch you, so feather-light that you couldn't be positive that it was not just a tickle against your skin. You opened one eye and saw that it was Loki, trailing his fingertips from your navel and up between your breasts, and then back down again. When he met your eyes, he dropped his hand back into the water and said something, but you couldn't make it out over the water in your ears.

“My prince?” You sat up again and shook your head. “I did not hear you.”

Did he look...uncomfortable? Surely that was just a trick of the light reflecting off of the water. “I said, I am sorry. My intentions were not to frighten you.”

“Well...you did.” Your voice fell flat as you responded, but he accepted the answer with the slightest incline of his head.

“Apologies. Would you like to go back now? You seem exhausted.”

Some small and defiant part of you wanted to tell him that you were perfectly fine, that you felt you could keep swimming for hours and hours. But the truth was that you were, in fact, exhausted. That had been more than enough water for one day. So you just bit your lip and nodded, and he turned to swim towards shore. You lagged behind somewhat, but kept up for the most part, despite the heaviness that was settling into your body.

It wasn't until you were standing up out of the water that you realized you had no way to dry off. You crossed your arms in front of yourself to hide your breasts as you looked around uncomfortably. It would probably be easy for Loki to squirm back into dry clothes while still dripping wet, but with your ridiculous dress, it would be practically impossible. 

You continued to hold one arm across your chest, but used your other hand to try to wipe some of the water off of your skin. It worked, but only just, and soon Loki noticed. You knew because you could hear him chuckle, and then he handed you his tunic. “Here, use this. I did not think to bring anything to dry with. My brother and I do not share your fear of being seen. We usually let the sun dry us.”

You looked up to make sure he was serious before you accepted the piece of clothing. It worked a little better than your hand did, at least. You gave it back with a shy smile and stooped to pick up your dress, maintaining eye contact all the while. “Thank you, my lord.”

It was hard to look away. He was as pale as ever, but the water coating his skin caught the light of the sun and glistened in a way that caught you off guard. He did not look sick, like the one frail boy you had known in the village who spent most of his time confined to his bed. There was a healthy glow to him, and you were struck by the rather embarrassing desire to taste it, to run your tongue along his bicep or up his chest. You turned away hastily to hide your blush.

Soon enough, you felt your prince's fingers pulling at the ties on your dress once again. When he was finished, he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. “How can I earn my lady's forgiveness?”

His voice sounded so sincere, so contrite, that even though you reminded yourself that he was renowned for his pranks and lies—not to mention his silver tongue—you allowed yourself to believe that he was being truthful. So you closed your hands around his and let your eyes slip closed as you leaned into him. “You _are_ forgiven, my lord. I know...it was not intentional.”

Upon hearing your words, Loki spun you around to face him and cupped your face in his palms as he kissed you with more sweetness than you would have expected. One arm moved down around your waist, to pull you closer against his body, and you slid your arms up around his neck. He nipped at your lower lip until you granted him access to your mouth, and then he growled softly against you. It was dizzying to be so close even after what had transpired in his quarters, and you could not even bring yourself to care who might have been watching.

Suddenly, it hit you—a realization so sudden that you had to pull away from the kiss. You hid your face in the prince's shoulder and hugged him tightly. You had hit him. You had assaulted the prince. For anyone else, that would certainly be a death sentence. Even the knowledge of your position above certain rules did not stop the blood from rushing through your ears. 

“What has happened now?” His arms tightened around you though, opting to offer comfort rather than try to study your face.

“I am sorry for attacking you in the water,” you mumbled against his skin. He smelled wonderful as always, the damp fabric of his tunic sun-warmed and earthy, mingling with the exotic and intoxicating smell of his skin. His laughter vibrated through his chest against your ear and he pressed his lips against your temple.

“You are forgiven,” he laughed, smoothing his fingers through your wet hair. “I think some would say I deserved it.”

You smiled to yourself: you could not entirely disagree. 

“Now that we've both been forgiven, perhaps we should make our way back into the palace to get ready for dinner. Mother has asked that you join us again tonight, of course.”

You nodded quietly, though the thought of facing that woman again knowing her intentions—and the knowledge that she knew you knew of her intentions—made your stomach twist. Nothing had changed, not really. It was just...so nervewracking. She could change her mind at any moment, after all, or Loki could change his, or some noblewoman from another land could come to take your place, or... You looked up. Loki was looking at you with amusement. Right. You ventured a smile and nodded, placing your hand in his and allowing him to lead you back into the palace.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof! I'd...rather not think about how long it's taken me to manage to squeeze this chapter out. Unfortunately, I'm in the middle of a lot of stress right now--such is the life of a teaching student whose loans are coming due and whose job prospects are not exactly plentiful. As much as I'd love to retreat into Loki's world, it's been hard to find the motivation to type even a single word. I hope this chapter is to your liking.
> 
> I hope you're all well, and I hope that you enjoy this newest chapter. There shouldn't be anything too triggering: just a bit of discomfort (poor narrator) and some coarse language (oh, Loki).

When you returned, there was a fresh dress waiting for you. This one was silvery like the one the day before, but with rich green embroidery along the bodice and sleeves. Even now, you had yet to really get used to the beautiful things provided to you here at the castle, and a part of you was just waiting for the day when you would receive a simple shift of rough cotton instead of the fine silks. Loki must have caught you staring reverently at the dress as it laid across his bed, must have seen how you held one sleeve carefully in your hand and touched the tiny stitches of emerald thread as though they were something precious, because he came to you. His hands found your hips and pulled you backwards, against his body even as he rested his chin on your shoulder. 

“Tell me what you are thinking,” he said. It was an order, of course, but delivered in a tone of voice which softened it almost into a request. That was simply how Loki asked for things. You felt a faint smile turn up the corners of your mouth. Of course the man would not be used to asking for things nicely, with pleases and thank yous. Somewhat emboldened by the fact that he could not quite see you, you turned your face just slightly to press your cheek against his.

“I am just remembering the clothes I had in the village, and how I never in a a hundred lifetimes would have thought I'd end up here, wearing such beautiful things.” 

You heard him laugh, a short puff of air through his nose, and his arms tightened around you. “My lady, you would make a rough-hewn sack look beautiful. Would you like help dressing?”

“Only if you can keep from ravishing me, my lord.” Your tone was light, and you closed your hands around the prince's wrists as they lay at your waist, just in case he needed assurance that you were joking. But of course he did not.

“I make no promises.” You could not be certain, but he seemed to smile as he spoke. He extracted his hands from yours, and soon you felt his lips like feathers against your shoulders. He worked the buttons that ran along your back, and slipped the dress down your shoulders, then past your hips, and allowed it to pool on the floor. But he did not step away to allow you to pull the new one on. Instead, his cool hands ghosted down your arms and then up your belly to cup your breasts as he pressed his face against the nape of your neck. “You smell wonderful,” he all but rasped against your skin.

“My lord, I smell of pond water, and probably dirt and sweat besides,” you protested. You would have liked to bathe once more, but that would be a waste—of both time and water. In response, the prince closed his hands around your hips again and pulled you up flush against his body. He was aroused. It pressed against you through his trousers, and the realization that it was because of you was dizzying.

“Does my lady believe me now?” His breath was hot against your ear. Your eyes slipped closed and, despite yourself, a quiet moan escaped your lips. He held you for just a little bit longer, his fingers spread wide as though to touch as much of your skin as he could, but then he released you. 

Right. Clothing. Because you were going to dinner. A bit flustered, you picked up the lovely dress and pulled it on. It fit perfectly, as they all did, and you entertained the notion that there might be a room somewhere in the palace full of seamstresses or possibly magicians whose sole purpose was to create these works of beauty on a daily basis. But of course that was ridiculous, and you laughed to yourself as the prince pulled at the strings that would hold the dress together.

“One day I will know the insides of your mind,” he murmured as he closed his hands around your shoulders. “Sometimes you are truly unfathomable to me.”

But he needed no response from you—his touch slipped away and, when you turned to look at him, he was shucking his clothes in favor of cleaner ones as well. You should have looked away, turned to work your hair into a braid or something so it would not look so wild in front of the King and Queen, but his skin caught the flickering lights in the room, which in turn caught your attention. You watched, captivated, as his lean musclesstretched and flexed with his every movement. When he pulled a clean shirt on over the smooth expanse of his back, it left you feeling almost...bereft. 

He turned, and something must have been showing in your face, because a smug smile crept across his as he stalked back toward you. “Do you see something you like?” His fingers hooked in the waist of his trousers as he moved, and he worked them down his hips. By the time he was standing in front of you, he had already stepped out of them. He was still erect. You felt your cheeks burning as you tried to find a safe place for your eyes, but between the smug look on his face, and...his arousal, there wasn't much else to look at. 

You took a step backwards, and lost your balance as your legs hit the bed. Well. This was familiar. You sank down among the furs and blankets, and the prince followed you. One hand crept beneath your skirts again, and you squirmed beneath him. “Loki—” You pushed against his chest, but there was no panic or fear coursing through you, only laughter. “Your family is expecting us.”

“I am a prince. They can wait for me.” He sucked greedily at your skin, teeth nipping your collarbone and sending goosebumps out like ripples in the pond. “Besides, they have my brother. What use have they for me?” His fingers climbed higher, but you pushed harder against him.

“Loki.” Feeling bold, you cupped his face in both of your hands. “My lord. You will be missed.” You sat up a bit to kiss him—lightly, so as to keep from inciting anything else. “Now will my dear prince please put his trousers on so that we might go to your family?”

“If you insist,” he sighed, and slid off of the bed. You managed to keep yourself from watching as he moved catlike across the room, and to keep your eyes averted. He fastened his trousers and extended one long, pale hand towards you. “My lady.”

***

Loki's family, it seemed, was used to his lateness. His mother smiled tolerantly at you as the prince pulled out your chair, and the king? Well, he was unruffled. As before, you immediately found yourself swept away into the conversation of the ladies around you. They were kind, but just shallow enough to keep from turning the conversation towards you. By the time the second course was brought out, you had turned it into an amusing game: watching as each woman took her turn to bask in the attention of the others sitting at the table with you and waiting to see how long she would hold it before another swooped it up. In any case, it was not particularly different from the bits of Loki's conversation with his brother and the soldiers at the end of the table. Honestly, you were not sure how anything even got done, with the lot of them squabbling and interrupting each other. At least the ladies felt no need to shout.

Something in Loki's voice pulled your attention away from the ladies. He sounded distressed, almost—frustrated. You had missed whatever had put him into such a state, but reached over beneath the table and rested your hand on his knee. He did not move for a few moments, and you could only assume that he was so wrapped up in his argument that he had not noticed, but then his long fingers were covering yours. His thumb brushed soft circles against the back of your hand and sent strange but lovely chills up the length of your arm. 

“Perhaps the lady will know!” Thor's voice boomed across the table, as though perhaps he thought you were in another room instead of just a few seats away. You looked up at him, more than a little surprised and uncomfortable at having been pulled into their conversation. “My brother is of the opinion that an army of men can turn a week's journey into one only three nights long. Have you ever heard of something so ridiculous?”

The prince's eyes were warm, but there was something in his voice that you did not like. You struggled to form an answer, while Loki squeezed your hand.

“Brother, do not bring her into this. Unlike me, she has not yet grown accustomed to your ways. I assure you—”

“It has been done,” you finally managed. Several pairs of eyes turned to stare at you. “In my village, one of the elders was very ill, and so a team of riders were sent to fetch a healer. Forgive me, I cannot remember if the journey was meant to take six days or seven, but they returned on the afternoon of the third day, and the woman was cured.” You looked around. If you had not been so confident in your story, you might have been unnerved by the looks you were receiving, but you had been old enough to understand the panic that coursed through the town, and to have loved the kind old lady dearly. “If a person is riding for something they feel is truly important I think there is very little that cannot be done.”

Silence descended upon the table. Of course, you were still surrounded by the noises of the rest of the guests carousing at their respective tables, but even the ladies beside you had stopped talking and looked over. Your cheeks burned. It was not as though you had been telling a great and epic story, or even any story of much importance whatsoever. But everyone seemed...rattled, somehow. Should you have held your tongue, instead of contradicting the prince? But there was no danger in the air, and you did not feel afraid. He had asked you a question, after all, and you had merely answered. It was the truth: you had not made up some fantasy. Thor studied you for many long moments, his expression wholly unreadable. Just as you were about to stammer out some disqualification about how one of the horses had been nearly lame by the time the men returned, and how all of the riders had needed the next three days to recover from the grueling journey, a smile broke like the dawn across his face and he raised his goblet to you.

“Brother, if the lady says she has seen it done, then I shall believe her. I was mistaken!” 

Everyone was still looking at you, and all you really wanted to do was hide your face and perhaps crawl under the table to hide, but of course that was ridiculous. The most you could do was duck your head and study the goblet set before you. It held a deep red liquid, almost black. Vaguely, you remembered seeing a similar goblet the last time you ate at the table, but you had been so nervous that you'd barely touched your food, let alone any drinks. 

Cautiously, you took a sip. It was cool and sweet, with a curious biting heat somewhere in the back of your throat, or your nose. Still, it was lovely. You took another drink and allowed your eyes to slide closed as you savored the taste and the way it filled your senses. It would be wine, you knew, or else some other kind of alcohol: the smell reminded you vaguely of your father, though of course without the stench of his body mixed in. 

A bracing warmth spread through you with only a few sips, and somehow it seemed to matter less that all eyes had been on you. Gradually, the conversations at the table went back to normal, and as they did, you felt Loki's fingers tighten around yours once again. He leaned in close.

“Was my lady defending my honor?” He whispered. His breath tickled your ear, and you could hear the faintest trace of a smile in his voice.

“Your brother asked me a question, my lord, and I answered honestly,” you replied. “I hardly think one such as yourself truly needs defending.” You smiled at him for a moment before allowing yourself to be drawn back into the ladies' conversation. They looked at you differently now, though, and a few of them were actually asking you questions—where had you come from, what was it like there, things like that. You took another long drink from the goblet, hoping to steel yourself against their fleeting curiosity until it finally gave out, and smiled with gratitude at the girl who came up behind you, seemingly from nowhere, in order to refill it.

It was not that you were ashamed of your home, of course—at least, not just that you were ashamed. If the blonde servant from the other night knew about your humble origins, then surely everyone else did too, and you had to expect that at least a few other people shared her feelings towards you. But you found yourself relaxing as you spoke, at least partly thanks to the wine but also because no one was sneering at you. The ladies wore expressions of open interest and fascination, and encouraged you to speak long past the point when ordinarily another would have interrupted. You couldn't help but feel a growing sense of...strangely enough, of belonging, even as they made little exclamations amongst themselves about how hard it must have been to live in a tiny cottage, or to have been without a mother. The differences should have served only to increase the divide between you, but they...didn't. A smile crept across your face as finally the conversation began to turn to other things.

Someone came up behind you once again and, thinking it was another servant, you moved aside and turned your head to thank them, but it was the prince—Thor—and his face was very close to yours. “May I have this dance, my lady?” he asked. It was only then that you noticed that many of the other guests had cleared a dance floor in the middle of the room, perhaps too taken with the band's lively music to think about propriety. Or perhaps, you realized as you saw that the King himself was twirling the Queen into the middle of everything, with her head thrown back in laughter, this was proper. You looked past Thor's expectant face to Loki, but he was apparently still deep in conversation with the man sitting across from him. Very well. You drew in a deep breath, ignoring the way your head and limbs seemed to be buzzing with the alcohol, and offered him your hand.

“Of course I cannot say no to you, Sire,” you said with a smile. He grinned and whisked you away from the table, into the throng of people moving together to the music. 

He was so different from your prince, large and warm as he held you to him on the floor. In fact, the only thing that gave him away as the brother of Loki was his skill at dancing. He moved with a grace that belied his size, just as Loki had seemed enchanted at the ball. The ball. It felt as though that had been years and years ago. But just as you had felt like a graceless animal dancing with your prince in the ballroom, you felt clumsy and foolish dancing with Thor here among everyone else. You had not even had that much wine, or so you'd thought: plenty of others around you had had their goblets refilled many more times than you, but here you were, uncoordinated and dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with the royal prince before you.

“I must apologize for my behavior,” Thor whispered conspiratorially against your ear. His breath was thick and sweet. “I think I have had a bit too much to drink.” He spun you then, out and away from him for just a moment, and then swallowed you back up into his arms. One hand covered yours easily, and the other gripped your waist. You fought back the feeling of being trapped, held captive, because that was silly. 

“I may have overdone it a bit myself,” you confessed. That would be that, then: in the future you would have no more than one serving of wine at a time. A little bit of it seemed to calm you, but too much of it set your heart and mind to racing. If you were in full control of your faculties, surely you would not be so uncomfortable dancing with the prince like this. He was being perfectly respectable, and it was only polite to get along with Loki's family, was it not?

“It becomes you, my lady. Your cheeks are flushed a most wonderful shade of pink.” He pulled you closer still, and you couldn't be certain, but it felt like his lips had just grazed the outer shell of your ear. You straightened your shoulders and did your best to focus on your feet and the music. The song should end soon enough, and then you could retreat back to the safety of the table. When you realized that you were somehow associating being at Loki's side with being safe, you found yourself giggling aloud. How absurd a thought—and how mortifying your laughter. It soon dried in your throat, however, because yes, that time you had certainly felt Thor's lips press against your temple.

“It is not often that I envy my brother of something.” Thor's voice came low, rumbling somewhere between his chest and his throat. “There is very little, after all that, he has that I do not already have. But you belong in the sunlight, don't you? Not locked away in a stone cell here in the castle.” His hand was creeping lower along your back, still far from impropriety, but too close for your own comfort. What were you to do? You did not want to be here, like this, with him, but you also did not want to make a scene by pushing him away. Was this simply the way he was with people? Thor had always seemed friendly enough, and about as nonthreatening as a royal prince could seem, but the last time you had rejected a prince, you'd been locked into a bedroom by yourself for days on end.

So you did the only thing you could—you held your back ramrod straight and put as much distance between the two of you as you could without risking the anger of the man before you. “I—I am not...” You were not locked anywhere at this point, were you? The only thing truly stopping you from roaming the castle freely was the fact that you were unfamiliar with the twists and turns of the corridors, but that would come with time.

“May I cut in?” Loki's voice was tight, and you could hear the barely-restrained anger simmering beneath frail civility. Thor seemed unaffected: he looked at the other man and grinned as widely as ever, releasing you and stepping away.

“But of course, brother! I would never stand between you and your lady!” He winked at you and latched on to a passing lady, spinning her effortlessly through the crowd and away from the two of you. 

Something was wrong. Loki was holding you too close. His grip on your wrist and around your waist was less about the expected form for this sort of dance and more...possessive. On the one hand, you were grateful for the support, because you were still feeling unsteady, and uncertain on your feet. But on the other hand, he was moving too fast, and his nails were cutting into your skin. You closed your eyes for a moment, which proved to be a mistake as you stumbled against him. Was there something you could say? This silence was oppressive, but something was preventing you from speaking. So you did the only thing you could do: you held tightly to your prince and tucked your head under his chin. 

Not long after that, you felt him pull away from you. He did not release his hold on your wrist, even as he stalked away from the dancers and toward the door. You tried to keep up as he dragged you down the hall, worrying all the while that he would not stop even if you tripped and fell. The thought of him yanking you along the floor by your arm was simultaneously comical and frightening, but you made it to his quarters, where he finally let you go. He was pacing the room as he had the last time he'd stormed off down the corridors and away from dinner, muttering once again as you stood unsteadily in the middle of the room. After several long minutes, he turned to you, cool deadly rage seething on his face.

“Were you having fun, my lady?” His voice was deceptively calm. You took a step away from him, but he followed quickly and pressed deeper and deeper into your personal space. “Is my brother a good dancer? Are his arms strong and comforting?”

“What?” Your head was spinning now, and you were positive that it was not merely the alcohol. “Loki, what are you—” 

“This is what he does,” he hissed. He spun and strode away from you, but then seemed to think better of it and returned, once again standing too close. “Has he promised you the kingdom? Will he make you his Queen one day? Or is he more interested in a quick tumble in some sunlit corner of the palace while you still sleep in my bed so that you can laugh together about making me the fool?”

“What?” Your voice trembled as you fought to find more words. Where were such accusations coming from? It was hard to put together any coherent thought whatsoever, let alone something that might convince the prince in front of you of what he should already have known to be truth. “My lord, please...”

“Thor, the grand golden son who cannot stand to see me with anything he likes. It is not enough that he will be King, or that our father favors him.” His voice was dripping with venom, his face a mask of hatred. But instead of setting your body to trembling, the sight somehow steeled your nerves. 

“Loki, stop. I am no plaything or belonging. I am a person. And I am here with you.” But you spoke softly, cautiously. He seemed more caged animal than prince, and such creatures could turn so easily.

“But you were not telling him no, were you? How am I to know you are not simply biding your time, waiting to move up the ranks as soon as you are able? All your protestations that you were no whore, your stubbornness and your reluctance to touch me, were they an act? The poor sweet virginal slut from the village here to sleep her way into power.”

That was enough. Caged animal or not, you could not just stand here and allow him to shout such things at you. You planted your hands on your hips, hoping that the stance would give you at least the illusion of solidity. “I was raised never to tell a man no, Loki, let alone a bloody royal prince!” Your voice was shrill and wobbly, but it somehow satisfied you as the words ripped from your throat. You allowed all of the fear, all of the anxiety that you had felt these past few months to come out in your voice. “And might I remind you what happened the last time I refused to let a royal prince manhandle me on a dance floor?” Your heart was thudding in your ears, but for once you did not think about what the consequences for yelling at a prince might be. He clearly had no regard for consequences, so why should you?

“Yes, my lady, you wound up here with the prince of nothing.” His level tone shamed you for your outburst, and his eyes burned like embers in his skull. “I am truly sorry, my lady. What torture. Believe me, I would send you away if I could.”

It was too much. Your stomach was churning now, threatening to rebel against you entirely. You crossed your arms protectively in front of yourself and made your way to the edge of the bed. Maybe he would throw you to the floor, or ridicule your presumptuousness, but if you did not sit now, the dizziness would almost certainly send you to your knees anyway. What was going on? Why in the world would anyone like feeling like this, seek it out night after night? Perhaps this feeling was why your father was always so terrible. It was all you could do to remain sitting upright and maintain control over your stomach, and so you had no choice but to allow the tears to fall. You could only keep your head low and hope that the tears would disgust him, that he would turn around and leave you alone.

“Do not think for a second that childish tears will win you this argument,” he finally said, but the anger in his voice was giving way to discomfort. When you did not answer him (because what could you even say at this point to change his mind?), you heard him sigh. You got the sense that he was standing at some safe distance with his arms crossed, trying to determine whether you were only pretending. Hah. “Are you ill?”

You shook your head. Would he acquiesce if you asked him to take you to your room, or call for a servant to do the same? Or would it be better if you told him he was right? Of course you were a cheap lying whore whose sole desire to someday be queen of the land. Your pride would not allow that. So all you could do was hold your tongue and do your best to pull yourself together for another bout with the prince once he became frustrated at your silence. You heard water being poured somewhere in the room, and then felt the prince return to stand in front of you, but instead of demanding that you rise and look upon your prince, he dropped to his knees before you, peering up into your face.

“Loki—” Your voice was as pathetic as it had ever been, broken and pleading. You just wanted to go to sleep: here or in your own room or in the stables, if you had to. You couldn't fight any more, not tonight. You tried to cover your face, make him go away, but he pulled your wrists down into your lap and held them there, so you closed your eyes instead.“I drank too much. I swear I did not mean to, but then when your brother asked me to dance, I couldn't say no, then then his hands were on me, and his mouth, and he is a prince, Loki, I did not know how to stop him.”

“Okay,” he said, and his voice was low. “It's alright, pet. I know.” You drew in a shaky breath, and something cool and damp was pressed against your face. Your eyes shot open and met his as he drew the cloth along your heated skin. “Father does like his wine exceptionally strong. I'm afraid you're going to feel even worse in the morning.”

“I'm not sure that's possible,” you groaned, and stopped fighting to keep your eyes open. The prince laughed and kissed the back of one of your hands before pressing the cloth into it. 

“Do this yourself, and I'll undress you.” He climbed onto the bed behind you and made quick work of the ties on your dress even as you hid your face in the blessedly cool rag. Thankfully, you remained steady on your feet when you stood to take the dress off, and Loki sat on the bed, watching as you slid between the blankets. When you were finally settled, he took the cloth back from you and held it to the side of your neck.

“Loki, that feels wonderful,” you sighed, and lifted one hand to close your fingers gratefully around his elegant wrist. He brushed the thumb of his free hand across your cheek and turned to press your face closer to his touch. 

“Go to sleep, pet. With any luck, you'll sleep through your illness in the morning.” With that, he moved the rag to rest upon your brow and slid off of the bed. You pried your eyes open just in time to see him pause in the doorway to look back at you.

“What about you? Where are you going?” You sat up, but he raised his hands as though to stop you. Even from across the room, it felt as though he had placed a heavy weight upon your shoulders, and so you allowed it to press you back into the mattress.

“I wish to be alone for a while, to think. I'll just be walking through the garden. No need to worry yourself. Just go to sleep.”

You nodded quietly and settled back amongst the pillows as the doors clicked shut behind him. You were asleep even before your body's heat had time to turn the rag warm again.

***

It was late when Loki returned, and there was a headache threatening just behind your eyes but the cool darkness of the room offered some comfort. He must have woken you as he was removing his clothes, because you heard him go around to the side of the bed and slide in behind you. You cringed from him at first, as his skin was frigid from time outdoors, but then allowed yourself to melt against him, trading the heat of your feverish body for the comforting chill of his. He seemed surprised, but not particularly uncomfortable, when you turned to press your face into his chest, and snaked his arm around your back to hold you close.

Your lips shaped his name against his skin like a whispered prayer, and maybe he pressed his lips to the top of your head, but between the alcohol and your drowsiness, everything was still fuzzy around the edges, so you couldn't be sure.

“It's late,” he rumbled. “Go back to sleep. The monster will protect you.”

“My prince,” you answered—maybe a correction, maybe an assurance—and if you added 'I love you', murmured half-asleep into the stillness of his chest, you could not be sure you had actually spoken it aloud, or merely called the thought to mind while you drifted into sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not quite as happy with this chapter as I've been with all of the chapters that have come before it, but it's kind of something that I needed to just bang out to get from Point A to Point B in the story. I may pull it for revision at some point in the future, or I may just leave it as-is for a while. I do have more of an idea for future chapters--I've just been stuck on this one for so long!
> 
> I hope you like it!

You were dying. 

Or, if you weren't, you found yourself wishing that you were.

You had not even opened your eyes yet, and still the light that came streaming in through the windows was searing through your eyelids and making the pounding in your head even worse. You groaned, and rolled over in order to seek refuge in the cool darkness of your pillow, but the movement made you suddenly and painfully aware of your churning stomach. And your whole body ached, particularly your legs and between them, and you would have moaned if you were not afraid that doing so would alert you to a sore throat, or perhaps a swollen tongue. If this was what your father awoke to every morning, then you could almost forgive him for his foul moods.

Your mouth was very dry, but getting up for water was out of the question. So you stayed there in bed, trying not to move or breathe or even think very much. With any luck, you could fall asleep again and sleep through this sickness. And then never, ever drink again.

But it was not to be. The door creaked open, echoing like a scream in your ears. You whimpered before you could stop yourself, but at least that showed you that your throat was intact.

“My lady?” It was a cautious whisper—Sindri, of course. Had Loki put out word that you would be unwell this morning, or had the story of your inebriation simply spread on its own? The smell of the food on the tray she carried reached your nose and made your stomach clench miserably. You were hungry, but could you trust your body to keep from rejecting whatever you tried to eat? 

The girl crept closer, the thin soles of her sandals not quite noiseless on the thick carpet, and placed the tray on the small stand beside the bed so that she could touch your forehead. Her touch was light, hesitant, but you could feel the roughness of her skin. She was so young to have such calloused hands. You opened your eyes partway, trying not to groan at the brightness of the room as you peered up at her. Before she met your eyes, her features were creased with concern, but when she saw that you were awake, her face melted into a shy smile.

“My lady, it is best to eat something. You'll find it'll make you feel better. Do you need help sitting up?”

“No.” Your voice sounded about as terrible as you felt, and you cleared your throat to try to rid yourself of the hoarseness. “Thank you. You are sweet to be concerned, but I am not sure I can eat anything.”

“You must!” She was insistent, and picked up the mug of tea to press it into your hands. “Please, my lady. I know it sounds crazy, but you will feel better, I promise.” She looked around the room and lowered her voice. “You should see how much food Prince Thor eats for breakfast when he's had too much to drink the night before.” She grinned, and for a moment she looked like a girl—a girl like Sigg, or the sister you had never known—but that passed an instant later, and she looked like the guarded, cautious servant again.

You weren't sure what to say to her—whether you should apologize or thank her again—so you took a bit of fried meat. It was greasy, but delicious, and (best of all) your stomach seemed to accept it without threatening to rebel, and so you ate with growing gusto. You stopped only to urge Sindri to take what she wanted. There was far more food on the tray than you could eat even with this renewed appetite, and you could not help but wonder if someone was sending this much food on purpose. Maybe other people were looking out for the girl as well? 

You were feeling marginally better already, you decided once most of the food had disappeared from the tray. Your head was still throbbing and your limbs still ached, but you did not feel quite as ill. Sindri was fidgeting hesitantly, and you could tell that she had a question that she did not want to ask. Bracing yourself, you offered her a warm smile. 

“What is it?” 

She remained silent for a long time. When she finally spoke, her voice was guarded.

“My lady...are you going to marry Thor?” 

“What?” Your voice was too loud, and you winced as soon as you had finished speaking. Once the renewed aching in your head had passed, you laughed weakly and looked over at the girl. “What in the world are you talking about?”

She shrugged and pulled off a piece of the roll in her hands. When she spoke, she did so quietly. “Some of the other servants are saying that you danced with him last night at dinner. He will be king someday, so...some are saying that you will go to him instead of Loki. Will you?” 

“No.” Your voice, thankfully, sounded stronger than you felt. There was so much you wanted to ask this girl, but already she looked as though she wished she could fly from the room, and you did not want to frighten her, so you chose your words carefully. “I have no intentions of marrying Prince Thor.” That was true enough, anyway. “I have seen nothing to suggest that either of the princes would wish to marry me in the first place. And it is a bad idea to listen to gossip.” You offered her another smile, though this one was certainly more wavery than the last.

“Good. Between us, my lady? I do not like him very much.” She looked around the room and leaned in closer, as though sharing a secret. “He used to pull my hair when I first arrived.”

It was hard to imagine Prince Thor terrorizing a young servant for no reason, but you held your tongue. If she said he pulled her hair, he pulled her hair. You thought about reaching out to take the end of one of her braids between your fingers—not to pull, of course, but just to touch—but refrained. It was a little inappropriate. “How long have you been here, exactly?”

Sindri had to think for a moment. “Four years, I think. No, I'm nearly...thirteen now, so it would be five. Five years working for the Queen and Prince Loki.” She smiled proudly, but all that did was make you want to pull her into an embrace. She was still so young, a child, and yet had already spent so much of her time in servitude to the royal family. And to look so proud about it! What was there to say to her?

Either she picked up on your discomfort, or the Fates smiled upon you, because after only a few more moments, she hastily wiped her mouth and, as always, tucked a roll of bread into her apron. “I have to get to work, my lady,” she said, though her eyes lingered wistfully on the rest of the food on the tray. “The princes have left, so should I send Rowan to you?”

The thought of nursing your illness in the sanctuary of the library was tempting, but you shook your head. “No, thank you. I think I should take some time to learn the corridors of the palace. I have been here a while now and I am still never completely sure where I am going.” Sindri nodded, and you imagined her as a child of eight trying to find her way through the palace. Had the other servants been accommodating? 

“That is a good idea,” she agreed with another little jerk of her head. “If you find yourself lost anywhere, you can ask any one of us. Helping the royal family is our most important order, so anyone will help you.”

And before you could get over your surprise and remind her that you were not actually a member of the royal family, Sindri had slid off of the bed and hurried from the room. You picked at the tray for a little bit longer, but soon stood up to bathe. You stumbled, just once, as your head spun, but you quickly regained your balance. Maybe even drinking one serving of wine would be too much, you decided. Maybe you just did not care for the stuff at all, and you would not be touching it again in the future. Surely that was easier?

When you came out of the washroom, you were relieved to find that a dress had been left for you on Loki's bed. To be honest, you'd been dreading seeing the older servant—she would certainly have something to say: some snide, judgmental remark about overindulging or dancing with Prince Thor or something along those lines. But the room was empty, and the dress was perfect: soft and comfortable against your skin. It wasn't too restrictive, and it wasn't too heavy, but sat against your skin like the dresses you wore when you were a child.

You were tempted—sorely tempted—to crawl back into the bed and sleep the rest of the day away. Who would dare say anything to you? But the fact that you had yet to learn the layout of the palace was really getting to be a problem, so you steeled your resolve and ventured out through the ornate doors of Loki's chambers.

***  
You spent most of the afternoon wandering the palace and committing the labyrinthine corridors to memory. By the time evening fell, you were feeling downright comfortable with the paths you'd taught yourself. It was a huge palace, of course, and it would take you much longer than one day to memorize the entirety of it, but you could find your own way from the prince's quarters to the library, the great hall, the throne room, and the garden and stables. Not too bad for one afternoon's work.

Loki still had not returned by nightfall, but a servant appeared in the doorway to bring you to dinner anyway. Walking into the hall by yourself was a little nervewracking, but once you were in your place at the table, surrounded by the Queen's ladies, you found yourself feeling...well, almost as though you belonged there. Tonight there was a new face sitting amongst the familiar ones: a woman with rich dark skin and fathomless brown eyes. You could not tear your eyes away from her, though she remained practically silent throughout dinner. She caught you staring once and you would have looked away with flaming cheeks, but something in her gaze held yours even as she smiled faintly at you. 

Eir, some of the other ladies called her in passing, which told you that she had clearly been to the palace before. There was a stillness about her that went beyond her reticence and put you in mind of some of your village's elders. She seemed very wise. There were things that she knew that you could never hope to understand. Perhaps that was why she kept quiet: she had no one to discuss her thoughts with.

You sat with the ladies until the majority of them had excused themselves, at which point it no longer seemed rude to do the same. When you got back to your quarters, you fell into bed almost immediately, and dreamed of your prince sitting astride his horse with a stony face, riding fiercely despite the biting rain that fell around him.

The next few days were largely the same. Sindri came and shared breakfast with you, and then you wandered around the palace for the rest of the day. By evening on the fourth day, you could take yourself nearly anywhere in the palace you needed to go, and usually without stopping a servant to ask for directions. Attending dinners by yourself was also becoming commonplace, though the empty seat beside you was starting to make you miss Loki. How you would have scoffed at the idea—missing Loki, of all people!—when you had first arrived, and yet here you were.

Most of the dishes had been cleared away on that fourth night when Prince Thor burst into the room, followed by a few of his soldiers. Silence fell as he strode purposefully toward the table and leaned to whisper something in Eir's ear. Her face showed nothing, but she stood to follow him out. 

“Thor, what is it?” Even the Queen could tell that something was wrong. “Where is your brother?” 

But the prince did not stop to answer her, and in fact gave barely any indication that he had even heard her in the first place. The two of you shared a worried look across the table and, before you realized what you were doing, you had jumped to your feet to follow the others. 

Loki was standing there in the hallway, between two unfamiliar soldiers who were each supporting his weight. His clothing was soaked, as was the rest of the party's, and already there was a small puddle at his feet. The difference was that his puddle was tinted red. He was bleeding somewhere, enough that his blood was dripping from his clothing like the rain. He seemed to grow weaker by the second, and you had to tell yourself that he was not growing paler before your very eyes. It was simply not possible. Before you could gather your wits to ask what had happened, Eir was springing into action, barking orders and sending the soldiers scattering throughout the palace. She and Thor hurried Loki towards his chambers, and you did your best to keep up.

They lowered him onto the bed and, in a matter of moments, Eir had stripped him of his clothing. The sight of his body, covered with dirt and blood and bruises, made you gasp, which seemed to finally make them aware of your presence.

“My lady, you do not need to be here,” she said, addressing you for the first time since you'd laid eyes on her. She did not stop working as she spoke: a soldier had brought her a pot of water, and she dumped the contents of a small velvet bag into it, then began soaking the clean rags that another had brought. “You should go.”

“I can't,” you answered, and immediately felt as though you had never spoken a truer sentence in your entire life. “Let me help.”

A look passed between Eir and Thor, as though they were communicating telepathically, which of course was not possible, and finally she shrugged. “Fine. Use these cloths to clean the prince's wounds. When one cools, or becomes too dirty, take a new one.”

You climbed onto the bed to sit on the other side of Loki, and did as the woman instructed. But each time you slid the cloth over your prince's wounds, it seemed to reopen them, and his blood poured out of every crack in his skin. You were no physician, of course, but even you could tell that he was losing too much blood. But you would not allow the panic to hold you back, and instead forced your mind to shut off as your hands worked seemingly of their own volition. When all of the dirt had been cleaned from Loki's body (and his skin was almost certainly paler now than it had ever been before, there was no doubt), Eir poured a new bag's contents into a fresh pot of water, and soaked some bandages in it.

“Put your hands on either side of these wounds here, princess, and hold them closed. Quickly!” 

You did as she ordered without hesitation, though the fear of hurting the prince was ever present in the back of your mind. It was not until the healer had completely wrapped all of your prince's wounds that you even realized what she had said. The urgency had passed—she had fallen silent again in lieu of delivering commands, and most of the soldiers had left the room. Thor was standing near the door, a silent sentry, and Eir ran her filthy fingers through her hair.

“My lady, I...” Was it worth it to correct her? You had made Loki so angry when you had tried correcting him, but that could be blamed on any number of other things. But she was looking at you already, so you could not very well remain silent. “I am not a princess.”

She cast a look over her shoulder at Thor, who nodded as though to verify that what you said was true, and then looked back at you. “Apologies, my lady. I spoke without thinking. I meant no insult.”

“No, I—I know. I just—I did not wish to mislead you.” You dropped your eyes to the prince's face. A deathly pallor had sunken into his skin, and his eyelashes did not so much as flutter against his cheeks. He was more still, more lifeless, than you had ever seen him before. “Will he—?” Will he what? Survive? Awaken? Die? You could not finish your sentence. The possibilities were too frightening, no matter which word you chose.

“Aye, he should be fine. Nothing I haven't seen before. My mixes will have him stitched together by morning, and as long as he wakes up tomorrow, he should be on the mend quickly.” She rose to her feet and stooped as though to stretch her back. You did not ask her why he might not wake up tomorrow—because you were not certain that you wanted to hear her answer. “Keep an eye on him tonight, my lady, and find me if his condition should worsen.”

With that, she and Thor left the room, leaving you with what could very well have been the corpse of your prince. It was not until the doors had been pulled shut behind them that you realized that you had no idea how to find her. The alternative, you decided, was to keep an incredibly sharp eye on him, because that way surely nothing could go wrong, could it?

***

The first time he groaned, it made you jump in the stillness of the room. You sat frozen for a moment, your eyes fixed to the prince's face as you waited for something else—anything else—to happen, but he did not move, or awaken, or even moan again. Your hands were growing stiff with whatever concoction Eir had mixed into the water, and your dress was stained and filthy, so you stripped it off and went to wash your hands in the washroom. The whole time, you strained to listen for any noise from the prince, but it was as though the spectre of death had fallen upon him again. So made your way back to the bed in nothing but your shift, a thin white length of fabric that pooled around you as you knelt beside Loki on the bed. 

The longer you sat there staring, the deeper the weight settled in your stomach. Death was not just upon your prince: it filled the room. Your skin grew cold in the flickering torchlight, and so you drew the blankets around the both of you. Even if he was asleep, surely the prince could still feel the cold, and it would not do for him to catch a chill, not while he was already facing so much danger. You alternated between willing Loki to make some kind of noise, to show you that he was still alive, and willing him to remain quiet, to show that his condition had not worsened. 

At some point during the night, you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were being ripped back into wakefulness by your prince as he groaned and twisted in his sleep. Fearful that he would rip through the bandages and reopen his wounds, you pressed against his shoulders in hopes of holding him to the mattress, but that seemed only to make things worse. He fought against your restraints and began to tear at the bandages holding him together. 

“Loki, stop!” You cried. Had you ever felt this useless before? You clutched at his wrists, but managed to hold him for only a few moments at a time before he yanked his hands away and resumed his clawing.

“Fire,” he was muttering, eyes clenched shut as he dragged his fingers along his sides. “There's fire. Itching fire. Make it stop.” His voice was a rasping whine, which only served to increase your terror. You had never heard him sound like this before. He worked the fingers of one hand under his wrappings and started to pull. He had unraveled a good portion before you managed to stop him, and would not stop mumbling about the fire. Clearly you needed to go find Eir, but how could you leave him alone like this, when he would undoubtedly tear himself open again?

Finally you spied one of your stockings, abandoned on the floor beside the bed. “Forgive me, my lord,” you murmured as you retrieved it, and used it to bind the prince's wrists together. You wrapped it tightly around one of the bed posts and took a moment to inspect your work. Although Loki struggled against these restraints as he had struggled against your hands, these held tightly. They would have to do.

So, temporarily satisfied that Loki would not hurt himself in your absence, you slid off the bed and skittered out of the room. If you could not happen upon Eir's room, you might find a servant who would know where to find her. But the corridors were deserted, and soon you found yourself in an unfamiliar wing of the palace altogether. How were there no servants about? How was there _nobody_ about? In a panic, you threw yourself upon the nearest set of doors and knocked as though to summon the dead. You were prepared to beg forgiveness from the person on the other side—you would even throw yourself at the mercy of the King himself, as long as he might help you find someone who would help the prince.

The doors swung open, and a broad bare expanse of a chest greeted you. If you were feeling less frantic, you might have groaned at your luck, but as it was, you barely even noticed the way Prince Thor's eyes raked along your barely-concealed body. “What is it, my lady?” He asked. “Loki?”

You nodded, struggling to find the words. “I think something is wrong. He says he is on fire.”

“It'll be the medicine, then,” came another voice—a familiar voice—from inside the prince's chambers. You felt your cheeks burning as Eir came into view. She was fully clothed, which suggested nothing..untoward, but the thought that you might have been interrupting something was still enough to make you blush. “Sometimes people cannot handle the healing.”

“My lord can handle a lot,” you shot back, and instantly regretted it. This woman clearly knew what she was doing, and you were going to pick a fight with her while Loki waited in his chambers in distress? Idiotic, prideful girl.

But Eir was nonplussed. She gave you a gentle smile and inclined her head. “Of course, my lady. Come, I will check on him.”

So the three of you tramped back through the corridors to Loki's chambers, and Eir perched on the edge of the bed. Your stocking had held, though Loki still struggled against it. He was fighting harder now, and the angry words that now fell from his lips nearly set your ears aflame. Again, Eir was not rattled in the slightest. Instead, you heard her laughing and murmuring something as she stroked the prince's face and checked his bandages. Whatever she said, it served only to further incense the prince—he pulled so hard on the stocking that the entire bed began to rattle. Finally Eir drew something from her breast—a small glass bottle, probably, though her back was to you so you could not be certain—and pressed it to the prince's lips. 

Soon he began to settle. Eir continued to stroke his forehead, and you did your best to ignore that strange, petulant emotion rising in your throat. Now that the danger (such that it was, in any case) had passed, you began to notice Prince Thor's eyes drifting towards you again, and you remembered that you were still wearing nothing but your shift. Trying (and most likely failing) to look nonchalant, you bent to retrieve Loki's cloak from where it had been dropped onto the floor. The material, though once soaked with rainwater, had dried quickly, and it was hardly even damp when you fastened it around your throat. And just there, beneath the slightly-musty scent of clothing worn for too long in too much weather, was the now-familiar scent of your prince. You held the cloak against your face and breathed deeply before remembering yourself. The other two in the room did not seem to have noticed. 

You wanted to join Loki on the bed, but Eir was still whispering to him, and, uncertain whether it was some kind of healing chant or merely words, you held back. Thor stepped closer to you and pulled you into his arms for a rib-crushing hug. 

“Eir is a great healer,” Thor said against the top of your head. “He will be fine in the morning. You will see.” It might have been more reassuring had that night (the one with too much wine) never happened, but as it was, you merely stood there with your back achingly straight and waited for him to be finished.

It seemed like years before Eir stood up and turned to face the two of you, but when she did, Thor finally released you. You gathered the cloak up closer to your neck, holding it closed in the front to cover as much of yourself as possible, and she inclined her head at you once more. It was a kind of bow, you now recognized—nothing like a curtsy for the Queen, but certainly something that wasn't necessary for someone of your position. 

“He will sleep through the night, my lady,:” she said. “I have given him something to make sure of that. You should sleep as well. The fire in his skin will trouble neither of you tonight, and by morning it should be more bearable.” 

And then, for the second time that night, the two of the disappeared together through the chamber doors. You stood there, looking at your prince. It was true, he appeared to be sleeping peacefully now—at the very least, he was no longer thrashing about. Perhaps you should untie him. 

With a shyness that made no sense at all given the situation, you approached the prince and struggled with the knots (all of his tugging had made them all the tighter). When they were finally undone, you let the stocking drop to the floor again and held his hands against your chest until they felt warmer. His skin was, of course, still cool to the touch, but they felt more...right, anyway. Emboldened by his lack of response, you pressed a kiss to his knuckles and placed his hands carefully on his chest. 

As soon as you did, it was as though all of your remaining energy was completely drained from your body. All of this worrying, all of this exertion, all of your panic and fear, had taken its toll on you, and you just barely managed to climb into the bed. You were asleep even before your head landed on the prince's shoulder.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a great and heartfelt thank you goes out to every single one of you reading this right now, everyone who has stuck with this fic this long, despite all these long waits and weird chapters. You are gorgeous and wonderful and fantastic readers, and I cannot appreciate you enough. Guh. You're perfect.
> 
> Unfortunately, I find that I need to make the following announcement for several others: plagiarism is wrong. Stealing ideas is wrong. No, I do not own Loki or even really the idea behind this story (after all, it's pretty darn close to Beauty and the Beast and lots of other similar stories), but I have spent hours and hours writing this monstrosity, and I feel that gives me a bit of a right to be upset when I find that people are taking it and claiming it as theirs. Plagiarism isn't always just copying and pasting. It's still plagiarism if you change only the names and the POV and the verb tenses. It's still plagiarism if you break it up into different chapters and add a different paragraph to my words here and there. I know that fanfiction is a notoriously murky place to deal with the lines between original ideas and plagiarism, but there's a difference between writing your own take on this concept and just tweaking my words to make them sound better (or to make them harder to Google).
> 
> I have been plagiarised more often since joining the Loki/Tom Hiddleston fandom than I ever have before, in over ten years (oh god I'm ancient!) of writing fanfiction. Twice now, kind readers have taken the time to comment or message me to tell me that another author is putting their name to this very story, with only a token attempt at changing it. It's true that I have no legal grounds to stand on in terms of fighting back, but ethically, it's repugnant. I came very, very close this last time to taking Captivation down and updating it only for myself. 
> 
> But here we are, at chapter 13 (I wonder if that's why I've been having all this bad luck lately?). Sorry to say that this one won't answer too many questions, but I'll get to them eventually, I promise!

You slept through the night as though Eir had given that sleeping draught to you instead of the prince, and when you opened your eyes in the cool grey light of the morning, you relished those few moments of peace before you remembered what had happened the night before. Loki had been so far from his usual, regal self—with his fits of rage, he was perhaps not necessarily the most dignified of princes at all times, but the stark contrast between the man you'd come to know and the...base creature writhing in his bed the night before was still chilling. 

You turned your attention to the prince, but moved very little so as not to wake him. His bandages had held through the night, and he had bled through them in only a few places. His chest was rising and falling slowly but even that was enough to reassure you. He was still alive, then, and had not woken up in another fit. You wondered idly, in that strange place between wakefulness and sleep, whether he could have ripped himself apart last night. Worse yet, if he had set his mind to the gruesome task, could you have stopped him? You sighed to yourself and lifted your head to inspect his face, hoping that his color had returned.

But instead of his cheeks, your gaze fell on his eyes—they were open, and already fixed on you. Heat rose into your face as the two of you studied each other, and he reached to brush the fingers of one hand (with skin that was still chilled, though thankfully not icy as it had been the night before) against your cheek. 

“My lady,” he began, and his voice was rusty, disused, as though he had been silent for much longer than one night. You would have been alarmed (the silver-tongued prince speaking with a rasp in his throat?), were it not for the fact that he was lying beside you very much alive and well. “Did I dream, or did you bind my wrists with a stocking last night?”

His words, and the smile that accompanied them, fanned the flames in your cheeks and made you drop your eyes. “Forgive me, my prince. You—I was afraid that you were going to hurt yourself. I had to get the healer, and—”

But he placed one finger against your lips to silence you and, with a gentle but insistent touch, guided your eyes back up to his. He was teasing. Of course he was teasing. “I am feeling much better this morning, due to your quick thinking. Thank you, my lady.”

You opened your mouth to remind him that it had been Eir who had saved him—Eir and her potions and mixes—but the door creaked open, and you looked up. Sindri tiptoed in, and faltered when she saw both of you looking at her. She curtsied as deeply as she could manage, weighed-down as she was with the heavy tray, but remained silent under the prince's cool scrutiny. 

“This tea is from the Lady Eir,” she said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. “I'm told you are meant to drink it all, both of you, to regain your strength.” She cast an apologetic look in your direction. This poor child was an entirely different creature from the easy, charming Sindri you had come to know on your own. You could not blame her, of course: she was in the presence of the prince, after all. You tried to catch her eyes so you could offer her a warm smile, but she kept her eyes averted. Finally, she seemed to remember her assignment, and placed the tray on the stand beside the bed. She curtsied again, much more deeply this time, and started to back away from the two of you and out the door when Loki spoke again.

“Will you not share your lady's breakfast today?” 

Sindri paled so fast you actually worried that she might faint, but you merely looked over at the prince. He was not smiling, but he was also not scowling, which...well, that was something, certainly. His face gave nothing away, and so you had no way of knowing whether this was an offense which would warrant some kind of severe punishment for the young servant or merely a raised eyebrow and a disapproving look. Either way, perhaps it would be best if you took the blame.

“Loki, we meant no harm. She is a growing child, and her labors are hard. I worry. And I insisted, every morning. Was she to refuse me? Please do not be angry with her.” You knelt beside the prince on the bed in hopes of drawing his attention more fully to you. If he was going to lose his temper, it was much safer for him to lose it at you, and not at the servant who still hovered in the doorway. You could take it, whatever it was. You were starting to feel more secure in your position here: no one would send you away. If Sindri was expelled from the castle, where would she go?

But Loki just struggled into a sitting position and reached out one hand to finger the cloak which was still wrapped around your body. “Gentle pet,” he said thoughtfully, hints of a smile gracing his face. “Is there any room in your heart for concern for your own safety?” He managed a smile that seemed to fall halfway between his smirks and the rare genuine smiles you had seen from him. The question, however, was absurd: how much time had you spent fearing for your life since your arrival at the palace? But you answered with a weak smile of your own. Loki turned his attention back to the girl. “Child. If I involved myself in the affairs of the servants, I would have little time for anything else.”

Perhaps that was his way of assuring you both that your secret (such that it may have been) was safe.

“Are you hungry?” You asked her, after casting a glance in Loki’s direction. He was leaning back against the pillows, apparently exhausted by the effort of merely speaking. That was worrisome. Sindri’s eyes, however, did not waver from the floor as she shook her head vigorously. She curtsied so deeply it almost looked like she was kneeling.

“No, my lady, they feed us well in our quarters. Thank you, my lady. Will you require further assistance, or may I return to my other chores?”

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, Loki interrupted. “I am very weak. I am not sure I will be able to lift my breakfast to my lips. You must stay and help me. Your other chores will be taken care of.”

Once again, Sindri paled so fast that you worried for her health. But despite the way her hands trembled at her side as she straightened, she nodded slightly and approached the side of the bed. There could not have been a person alive who would have faulted the poor girl for her trepidation, given the prince’s reputation. You looked at him with disbelief, and recognized a familiar glint there. He was teasing her. You groaned but played along.

“My prince, allow the girl to go back to work. If you truly cannot feed yourself, do not trouble her. I will feed you, sire.”

There was a long pause. Some time ago, you might have feared the repercussions for speaking out against the prince, but knowing that it was a joke made it easier to be brave. Loki did not tear his eyes from yours as he addressed the girl standing beside him.

“How can I resist the offer of taking my sustenance directly from the fingertips of my lady?” He asked, curling the corners of his mouth into a smile. “Child, you are excused after all.”

Sindri all but flew from the room, and when you were alone again Loki sat up to reach for his mug. “Do you think this is poison?” he asked, before taking a sip anyway.

“It is from the lady Eir, who has recently proven herself to be a great healer, so I doubt it.” You raised your own tea to your lips. It was overly sweet but still somehow bitter as you choked it down. Certainly there were worse things in the world, but you would have preferred not to have to drink it. The prince laughed to himself.

“Darling, you do not know how deeply the lady Eir, as you call her, hates me. She may be a healer, but that would not necessarily keep her from assassinating me.”

You remembered the night before, the way Eir had murmured and chanted above the prince on his bed, the way her warm dark fingers had skimmed deftly along his skin and bandages, working what must surely have been some kind of magic while you watched helplessly. 

“She did not appear to hold any ill will toward you last night.” There was another long silence as you reluctantly sipped your tea, and when you looked up at him again he was smirking at you as though he knew something you did not. “What is it, my lord?”

“Was that jealousy I heard in your voice, pet?” He sounded on the verge of laughter. It made your cheeks burn, but you tried to recover even as his eyes laughed and sparkled at you. Arrogant bastard.

“Of what, my lord? You were wounded, and the lady Eir fought hard to save you, harder than one would normally work to save someone they did not care for. I think that, without her, you would surely have died.”  
“And leave you here by yourself, sad and alone in the castle?” Loki shook his head and reached for you. His hand had been warmed somewhat by the tea, and a pleasant electricity flowed up your arm from where his fingers held you. “Never, pet. Death itself will not part us, remember?”

It was easy to speak such words, you mused, when he had not had to watch himself bleed and writhe and burn only hours ago. You scooped up some of the grain from one of the bowls and held it out to him, wishing more than anything to change the subject. Thinking about last night was uncomfortable for too many reasons. With a knowing look, Loki sat up and closed his mouth around the spoon, never once breaking eye contact with you. You looked away first, under the guise of finding pillows to prop the prince into a sitting position, and when you looked back to scoop up another spoonful, he closed his fingers around your wrist. 

“What is it?” The sound in his voice made you feel the slightest twinge of remorse: after the night he’d had, the last thing you should be doing was making him worry about you, of all things. “Darling, look at me. What is troubling you?”

After a moment’s hesitation, you finally dragged your eyes up to meet his. You might as well admit it now, you reasoned with yourself: he would only continue to hound you until he was satisfied that you were telling him the truth. It all came out in a rush: “You nearly died last night, my lord prince, and forgive me but I do not care how certain you are that you can triumph over death because you did not see yourself the way I did. And all I could do was watch helplessly. So please, do not be angry with me for not believing you this morning, just eat breakfast and regain your strength.” You longed to let your gaze skitter away from his, but held steady until finally he released your arm and accepted the spoonful without a word.

The silence stretched between you, not quite uneasy but then again not entirely calm. Neither of you knew quite what to say to the other: your outburst had changed something this morning. Only halfway through the prince’s breakfast, he closed his fingers around the spoon and gently took it from you. “Yours is getting cold,” he said. “I have strength enough to finish now. Thank you, my lady.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died in your throat as you met Loki’s eyes. How often had he looked at you with such tenderness? As you watched, mischief snuck into his face and he grinned at you. 

“Unless, perhaps, it is my turn to return the favor? Shall I feed my pet?”

You scooped your own spoon up before he could and hurried to swallow a large mouthful of your own grain, which had indeed grown lukewarm. “That will not be necessary,” you said around still another bite.

Between the two of you, the tray was soon cleared of every last morsel. Still you sat in silence. You would have liked to dress, but no one had brought anything for you, and despite your journeys through the palace you still had yet to discover the closet which held the gowns meant for you. And so there was really nothing you could do except sit there beside the prince in his bed as he appeared to doze amongst the pillows. 

“Did you get chilled last night, my lady?” He asked without even opening his eyes. His hand reached out along the mattress until it found your knee, and then the edge of the cloak that you still wore. “You are wearing my cloak. Were the blankets not enough? I can have more furs brought to us.”

“Ah, no…” Your hand sought his before you even realized what you’d done, and you closed your fingers around his. “When you took that turn in the middle of the night, I had already undressed for bed, and I did want to waste time putting my gown back on. So…I just took whatever was closest, and that just happened to be your cloak. I meant no offense, my lord.” The lie came easily, especially compared to the alternative: telling him that it was your only defense against the prying eyes of his brother. You started to unfasten it, but his hand stilled yours.

“Please, wear it. I have no use for it at the moment, and I do so love you in green.” He smiled faintly, but still did not open his eyes even as his words sank in. They meant nothing, of course, but you wracked your mind trying to remember if he had ever spoken similar words—words of love—to you before. 

Instead of allowing your thoughts to spin out of control, you turned your attention to the prince’s bandages, searching for any more blood. There was a fresh stain of bright red on the bandages over what had been his deepest wound, but that appeared to be the only problem. Your fingers hovered over the prince’s chest, aching to somehow reassure yourself that the wounds were healing properly but unwilling to risk hurting him. 

Just as you started to pull your hand away, maybe to slide off the bed and peek outside the doors to see if there were any servants nearby who might be able to tell you when your clothing was coming, Loki pressed his hand to yours, pulling it down against his chest. You tried to pull away, but he would not release you.

“What are you doing?” You demanded, voice just a little too shrill. “Stop, I’ll hurt you!”

“I am not made of glass. Touch me if you want. Feel how solid I am. You act as though I were mere smoke, ready to dissipate at your lightest touch.” His voice was sharp, insistent. “I am *here*, darling, alive and well. You must stop worrying.”

You stopped struggling, and instead let your hand rest flat against the scratchy bandages that were wrapped around your prince’s body. He did feel as solid as ever beneath your touch, but it still wasn’t…right. Loki moved as though to catch your eyes, but you let your eyelids slip closed instead. It was too hard.

Before you knew what had happened, he had pushed you backwards onto the mattress. Your eyes flew open with surprise, and locked with Loki’s. He was hovering above you, cheeks flushed with the effort of such quick movement and lips parted with laborious breaths mere inches from yours. Before you could scold him for such a stupid trick with such deep wounds, he pressed his forehead to yours and let out one last long, deep breath before his breathing returned to normal. One hand was braced against the mattress above your head, supporting the prince shakily, but the other gripped your hip through the thin fabric of your shift.

“How must I prove it to you? Because I am more than willing, pet, to do whatever I need to do—whatever will wipe that fear from your face.” But the flush in his cheeks was fading, and it seemed as though he was losing more and more color with each second that ticked by, growing pale and thin before your very eyes. “Shall I make love to you? Replace that hollow look in your eyes with lust and longing?” He pressed one knee high between your legs, but in doing so he allowed you to feel the way his muscles were trembling with the effort of holding his weight. 

You realized, with a cold pang, that this would not stop until you had relented, or he had collapsed. He was determined to prove his strength even as he taxed his ragged body beyond what little strength it could offer. Unable to bear it, you cried out and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his body down against yours and holding tightly to keep him in place. “Stop,” you whispered, tears hot and stinging as they threatened to fall. “Loki, please.”

After what felt like a very long time, you finally felt the prince sigh, his breath warm where it puffed against your ear, and he slipped his arm under your back to hold you as tightly as you held him. He drew in a breath, perhaps to speak, but was interrupted by the door creaking open.

“I would not recommend vigorous activity for at least another day or two.” A dry voice came from the doorway, and you might have tried to throw the prince off of you if it wasn’t for his bandages. Instead, you helped to push him into a sitting position and turned to look at Eir, who was standing just inside the door. Her arms were laden with supplies you vaguely recognized from the night before—pouches and bandages and rags. She stooped to drop some of them carelessly onto the table beside the bed, right on top of the tray that held your breakfast dishes, and gestured towards the two of you with an elbow. “See?”

You looked down at Loki’s bandages: that same spot that had been stained with only the slightest hints of bright red earlier that morning was now blooming crimson, with blood oozing through the bandage and dripping down his side. Your stomach clenched and you hurried to maneuver into a kneeling position, ready to help. The prince reached out to touch you, though, his fingers brushing against the front of your shift. Acting on instinct you pushed his hand away before you looked down at yourself. The prince’s blood glowed brightly against the white of the dress, and now you could feel it, cold and sticky against your skin. 

“Sorry, darling,” he said with a laugh. His tone was light and easy again, a stark contrast to the tension between you only moments ago. Without a word, you wrapped the cloak around you and slid off of the bed. Loki, on the other hand, stretched out on his back, throwing his arms to his sides as Eir began to organize her tools. 

“Don’t look so horrified my lady,” Eir said, and though she seemed detached from the whole situation, there was a smile in her voice. “To be honest, I expected to see much worse this morning. Your prince has no concept of his limits.”

“I’ve noticed,” you replied before you could stop yourself. Eir looked up and for a moment her face held nothing but surprise, but then a wide smile burst across her features before she turned her attention back to the prince. She made quick work of his soiled bandages, slicing through them and then sliding them off of the prince in a matter of moments. She studied his wounds, and you crept ever so slightly closer, to look at them yourself.

Most of them had already closed up neatly thanks to whatever mixes and potions Eir had used last night, and were now nothing more than angry red lines in his skin. They would probably scar, you realized, but it was better than remaining open. The deepest wound, however, the one that had torn open this morning, yawned at you like a ghastly, toothless mouth in Loki’s side.

“How good are you with a needle and thread, my lady?” Eir asked, and her words were nearly lost in the strange buzzing sound that filled your ears. What did that have to do with anything?

“I…I used to mend my father’s clothes, and my brother’s…and my own…why do you ask?” 

Eir held out a needle. “Will you stitch this up while I go back to my room? It’s not going to close up by itself, and I left some things behind that I need, thanks to the prince’s foolishness.”

Was she serious? The buzzing grew louder as you realized that, yes, she truly did intend for you to sew the prince together like an old sock with a hole in the toe. Through a fog, you felt yourself nod and move to take the needle from her. Maybe it would be just like mending a sock, you told yourself—or a shirt, more likely. Shirts were bigger. Or a long time ago, before he had lost it in a game of cards, your brother had owned a patchy coat made of the skins of animals from the forest: probably that would be the most similar. You studied the smooth edges of the cut and tried not to think about anything except the task at hand.

Slowly but surely, you stitched Loki back together, wincing every time you had to poke the needle through his skin. He was talking to you, saying something in a low voice, but you tuned him out until you’d finally reached the end of the wound. You surveyed your work: your stitches were even, as always, and it seemed as though they would help the skin heal together correctly, but then again, you weren’t exactly a healer. You bit the thread to cut it (and cringed only a little when you tasted blood), and then stood up on unsteady legs. The buzzing had faded somewhat, but it was still hard to hear. 

Eir had returned at some point, and when you moved away from the bed, she bent to inspect your stitching as well. “Well done, my lady,” she pronounced, and brushed a wet rag over the stitches to wipe away the blood drying on the prince’s skin. “That’ll heal nicely.”

“Good,” you choked out, still backing away towards the door. You had to get out of there before the walls came down around you. Maybe it was the blood, or maybe it was seeing that the great threatening Loki was just as easily damaged as anyone else, but you felt sick. Your back hit the wall, and you groped blindly behind you until you found the door frame, at which point you hurried out into the corridors. Loki shouted something after you, but his voice was lost to the echoes that bounced around the cavernous palace as you made your escape.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, while I was writing this chapter, I very nearly set into motion a series of events which would ultimately lead to ending this story in just a few more chapters, but I think the temptation has passed. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I'm still having too much fun writing this. I hope you're still having fun reading it! :)
> 
> Be aware that there is more threatened/implied violence in this chapter than there has been in previous chapters, but it's nothing worse that what you've already read, so if you've gotten this far without being triggered or getting freaked out, you should be okay.

You wandered through the corridors of the palace, trying not to look too out of place or too disoriented, lest you risk attracting the attention of a passing servant. You still felt sick, and all you really wanted to do was deal with your spinning head and churning stomach on your own. Thankfully, you soon stumbled across a familiar door—it was the room where you slept when you had first arrived at the palace. Cautiously, you pushed the door open, in case some new guest was now living there, and found it uninhabited. The book the prince had lent you was still sitting in the window seat where you could vaguely remember leaving it, but you did not have time to make note of any other meaningless details: acting mostly on instinct, you made your way to the bathroom and filled the tub with water.

Before the tub was even halfway filled, you started tearing at your clothing. Loki’s blood was no longer cold and sticky: instead, it had taken on the warmth of your body, and now felt warm and sticky. It was no improvement. You could not stand feeling it for even one more moment. You threw it into the far corner of the room, hoping never to have to look at the horrid thing again. Finally, you lowered yourself into the tub and sank down, allowing the water to close in around your head.

You were being silly, or at least that was what Loki would say if and when he found out how badly this was hurting you. The wound did not worry Eir, and even the prince did not seem particularly bothered by it this morning. His weakness, his paleness, those could be explained away by the amount of blood he had lost the night before, but now he was on the mend, so there was nothing to worry about.

Except the fact that you were worried in the first place. This was all too confusing. Certainly you already knew that you no longer loathed the prince, and you even enjoyed living here in the castle with him most of the time. This was not a simple case of your having fallen in love with your kidnapper. You were…at home here. With him. But that was the problem. Nearly losing the prince had shown you just how easy it would be to lose him. One well-placed slash from a sword while he was away from the palace, and he might never return again. If Eir had not been at dinner last night, would he have survived? These worries were frightening in a way so unlike your fears of your father or of the soldiers planted around your village. These were not fears for your own physical safety, but for that of another. Surely it could not be healthy to have so much of your emotional well-being wrapped up in another person?

Slowly, you sat up again, rising from beneath the water and allowing it to flow in warm rivulets down your hair, face, shoulders. It helped to clear your head. You began to wash yourself, and although the temptation to scrub the skin of your chest and ribcage raw was strong, you held back. When your body was clean, you slipped beneath the water again to rinse, and combed your fingers through your hair.

It was either very very good that you had these feelings towards Prince Loki, of all people, or else very very bad. Because surely he would not return them. He was kind, and even tender to you sometimes: you could not deny that fact. But the prince was not the kind of man to be troubled by these strange and conflicted emotions. Which was fine: it was better if only one of you had to deal with them. It was simpler.

You released a deep breath and watched the bubbles rise to the surface. There was a peace under the water that you were not quite ready to relinquish, but your lungs needed air, so you really had no choice.

As you resurfaced, you became aware of another presence in the room, and hurried to cover yourself. Eir was leaning in the doorway, looking pensive as she studied you. When she realized that you were looking at her, she stood up straight before leaning into a quick, partial bow.

“My lady,” she said in greeting. “Loki said I might find you here.” She thought for a moment and then offered you a conspiratory grin. “Though he did only tell me where to look after I threatened to tie him up with one of my stockings.” You laughed a little—how could you stop yourself?—but then looked down at yourself in the water. You were completely nude and only partially hidden by the fast-disappearing soap that floated in the water, and Eir was acting as though it were nothing out of the ordinary. She gestured towards a hairbrush that was sitting on a table. “May I?”

Wordlessly, you nodded, and tried to force yourself awake as she knelt on the floor behind you to brush the tangles out of your hair. A companionable silence fell between you. “There is no shame in finding yourself ill at the sight of blood,” she finally said, and her low, rich voice was reassuring. Still, you felt the need to set her straight. She was a healer, so she saw blood all the time, and you couldn’t imagine her getting ill at the sight. You couldn’t have her thinking you were that much weaker than she was.

“It’s not that,” you answered quickly. “I am not squeamish. Blood was part of daily life in my village, and, as a woman…” you trailed off, but the amused snort from the woman behind you told you that she understood. “It is not the sight of blood that made me run,” you said thoughtfully. It was hard to put into words the things you were feeling. “It was the sight of _his_ blood.”

It sounded even more foolish spoken aloud than you had feared. You closed your eyes in a sort of wince, wishing that the beautiful, elegant lady would just leave you to yourself, but she stayed close, putting the brush down only to coax an especially difficult knot into submission with her fingers. “It is hard to see the ones we love in pain,” she finally answered. The tone of her voice did not allow for any corrections. “But you were of great help last night and today, my lady.”

“I could not have saved him like you did,” you refuted. There was no reason to argue about this, except that it was easier than merely accepting her words as she spoke them.

“Perhaps not,” Eir agreed. She did not speak again until the brush slid through your hair as easily as though it were silk. You had long since closed your eyes and relaxed against the sensations: the calm and relaxation that started in your scalp and radiated throughout your body. Before you could stop her, Eir was separating your hair into sections and working it into what felt like a rather elaborate braid. “I hurt him very badly once, you know. A very long time ago.”

It was a confession. You did not truly care to know the answer, but still you asked: “Were you lovers?”

“Not quite.” She fell silent again, long enough this time that you could only assume that the subject had closed. It would not have surprised you to hear that Loki and Eir had been together in the past. As far as lovers went, Eir would have been an obvious choice for the prince, with her beauty and her wisdom. But how could she have hurt him? It was hard to imagine Loki being truly hurt by anything less than the physical. “I chose his brother.”

You winced again, this time not for yourself but for your prince. Your dance with Thor on the night with too much wine was not exactly sharp in your mind, but the way Loki had looked at you—with that anger and betrayal in his chilling eyes—that you remembered. The words “But why?” tickled the tip of your tongue but you swallowed them down rather than risk insulting the other prince. “Loki…” you murmured, as though he were standing before you, needing sympathy. Hah.

“It was at a midsummer festival. We were so young that it hardly should have mattered, but I was careless with the boy’s feelings and now here we all are.” She laughed, to herself mainly, as she fastened your hair in place. “He threatened to have me exiled from the land, but Thor told him that he did not have the power to issue such a decree, which only made the wound sting more. I left soon after anyway, to become an apprentice for a great healer. I think even she would not have been able to heal the damage I caused.” She sounded regretful, but gave your hair one last gentle pat. “There, finished.”

You might have risen to look at your reflection, but, given your nakedness, decided that was not exactly a good idea. Instead, you touched the updo gently with your hand. It felt perfect and elegant. “How—Why did you do this, my lady?” you managed. She had no reason to serve you even in this manner, and of course you would not have even dreamed of asking her to.

“I told the prince that I would check on you. He was concerned. Said you looked like a ghost when you fled from him, and he wanted me to make sure you did not disappear. He wanted to go looking for you himself, but then of course…the stockings. And I told him he truly did not want to rip out your stitches and make you put them in all over again.”

She rose and handed you a towel. You did your best to wrap it around your body as you stood up, but before you could start to dry yourself off, Eir cupped your face in both of her hands. “The prince cares for you very deeply, my lady,” she said. The closeness—her forehead against yours—created an intimate space wherein such words were…okay. You felt no urge to refute them here. “One day the both of you are going to realize that, and it may very well be the happiest day in that boy’s life.”

You held her gaze, not speaking, not needing to speak, until finally one last faint smile crept across her face and she released you. “I’ll leave you to dress, then,” she said, and half-bowed again. You did the same: two could play at that game, after all.

“You really need not do that,” you said as you both straightened. A lady of her status and wisdom and beauty bowing—even half-bowing—to you was absurd. Part of you feared what might happen if someone else saw her bowing to a commoner, even if it would be only ridicule.

But Eir only smiled that quiet, all-knowing smile and lifted her shoulders in an almost imperceptible shrug. “Never let it be said that I did not bow to royalty,” she answered.

This was almost as bad as arguing with Loki! She was not getting as angry with your protestations as he might, but she was every bit as stubborn as he. “But I am not royal,” you said. And that was not even a protestation: that was merely a statement of fact.

“You will be,” she replied and, after inclining her head at you once more, she ducked out of the room and disappeared down the corridor. Even if she was correct, what did that have to do with the present? If the Queen was right and Loki did one day ask you to be his wife, you would deal with all of the new problems that such a position came with, but right now, while you held no official title or position or claim to such respect, it should not have even been a problem. You scowled down the empty corridor for a few more moments until you realized that you were standing before an open door wearing nothing but a towel.

There was a new dress waiting for you on your bed. It was, as always, beautiful: a soft, creamy silk with delicate flowers embroidered on the bodice in thread of gold and silver. Even better: there were no fasteners at the back: no buttons or strings or anything, so you could simply pull it down over your head and allow it to rest against your skin instead of having to pull it tight. You were feeling much better after your bath and your chat with Eir, but it was still a relief. You gave an appreciative little twirl, admiring how the skirt, unencumbered by layer after layer of lace or additional fabric, flared out around your legs. It was perfect.

Dressed and bathed, but still not quite ready to face the prince again, you decided to go out to the garden. You got lost only once, and even then only for a minute or two: you didn’t even have to ask a passing servant to point you in the right direction.

The garden was as fragrant as ever. The white flowers that you’d seen in your nighttime visits were closed in the midday sun, but flowers of just about every other color danced and swayed around you. Had you ever really paid this much attention to the garden before? You approached the edge of the pond and peered inside, but of course the light-fish weren’t lighting up in the daylight. Was there anything else in the pond? There had to be, right? You gathered your skirts up around your knees and carefully crouched there, watching the murky water for any other signs of life, while the water lapped at the dock nearby and the wind rustled the leaves of the trees around you. For a long time there was nothing, but then, slowly, tiny little fish, more shadows than creatures, started to approach. You found yourself grinning as you watched them swim in the shallow water, going about their business without a clue as to your presence. And yet, you mused, all you had to do was dip your finger into the water to frighten them away. But you left them alone, standing up and turning to look at the valley which lay in the distance beyond the palace. Somewhere out there was your village, with your father and your brother and just about anyone else you had ever known or seen. Somewhere out there was Sigg, in the home that she had been willing to sacrifice to offer support for her family.

And here you were, living in a palace. Not even as a child, poring over the occasional book of magical stories that you could find, had you dreamed about something like this. At best, you had planned on living on your own, in your own little house on the edge of town like the other elder women. At worst, you figured you would have to marry one of the boys your age: maybe Falki with the lazy eye or Randr with the rotten breath. But that had been about as far as your imagination went, even with the help of the few books you could get your hands on. Was that sad, or was that merely being realistic?

It was just too surreal, you told yourself, to be thinking about things like this while standing in the royal gardens, and so you returned your attention to the pond.

“My lady, you look beautiful. The sunlight agrees with you.”

Your shoulders tightened and your heart race sped up as you recognized the voice. It was Thor. How long had he been watching you? Had he seen anything when you’d lifted your skirts to look for fish? You forced a smile onto your face as you turned to face him. If anything, the sunlight agreed with _him_ : it caught in his golden hair, which in turn was caught by the gentle breeze stirring around you and flared out ever so slightly around his face. He was smiling widely, but his eyes traveled just a little too freely over the length of your body.

“Good day, Prince Thor,” you greeted him as you curtsied. “I hope you are well.”

“How could I not be, on such a beautiful day—and in such beautiful company?” He reached to take your hand and lifted it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. Was that better or worse than bowing to you?

“You are too kind, sire,” you managed. He did not release your hand, though, and instead tucked it into the crook of his elbow.

“Walk with me, my lady. This is too fine a day to waste all alone.” Without waiting for a response, he started walking along the shore (such that it was) near the pond. How awful that only moments ago you were reveling in the day, but now wanted nothing more than to run back inside. Realistically, Thor had done nothing to harm you—he had danced a little too close after you both had had too much wine, and maybe he had embraced you with just a little too much enthusiasm, but that was likely unintentional. So you were being childish and perhaps even rude, feeling such trepidation to spend any length of time alone with the man. You tried to force yourself to relax, to walk at an even pace with him, instead of stiffly and uncomfortably.

He did not seem to notice a thing, nor did he mind taking control of the conversation. He was talking about something he and his soldiers had done, some feat of great bravery most likely, but it was hard to focus on what he was saying. Did his grip keep growing tighter, or was that in your mind? Finally, you reached a copse of trees that looked quite ancient: the trunks were thick and gnarled as they stretched towards the sky, and the canopy was so thick that inside, shadows won out over the sunlight. Prince Thor intended to walk right into it, you realized, but a chill breeze from inside made you stop. With it came a faint smell of rot. It was most likely old leaves, you realized, but that did not make it any more pleasant. You would not go in there, lest you never come out again.

“Tell me, my lord, what happened to Prince Loki on your quest?” With some effort, you composed your face into a mask of benign interest. Your fear was unfounded and thus should be kept hidden.

Thor did not look surprised at your question. “I take it my brother volunteered no information on his own?” he asked.

“No, sire. He slept so deeply last night, and this morning we had to repair one of his more serious wounds, so he hasn’t had the time, I think. Would it be better if I went to ask him?” Perhaps that was a better idea: and it gave you the perfect excuse to flee the garden. But Thor shook his head and reached out to take your hand again.

“No, my lady. I checked on him before I joined you in the garden, and he was asleep. There is no better medicine for a broken body than sleep, so you had better let him be.” With anyone else, you might have joked that surely Eir had some potion better than even the deepest of sleeps, but you held your tongue. Finally, Thor spoke again. “It is true that my brother has a certain way with words, and that has gotten us out of many rough situations, but he also has a certain…” he smiled faintly. “temper.”

You caught yourself smiling faintly at Thor’s understatement but forced your face to go blank again. It was one thing to think that of the prince yourself, but it was somehow wrong to show amusement when someone else (even his brother) spoke the words aloud.

“A band of thieves stopped us as we rode through a village. My men and I wanted to fight our way through, but my dear foolish brother tried to talk us free.” He continued to hold your hand in his, lifting it before his eyes to study it as though your fingers were suddenly foreign, strange. “It happened so quickly, my lady. Their leader was upon him before I could dismount from my horse. I could not check on him until the rest of the villains were slain. I feared…” He trailed off and absently held your hand to his chest, looking pained. “I feared him lost. I was trying to find the words to explain myself to you even as I fought alongside my men to defend our safety. But then, a miracle: my brother was still alive. I carried him home on my horse, willing him all the while to stay alive for me. For you.”

There was something in the story that didn’t feel quite right. It seemed more theatrics than truth. But ultimately, what could you do but accept it? Gently, you tried to extract your hand from his. Thor did allow you to step away, but followed almost immediately, gripping your waist to keep you from going too far.

“And he did, my lady. We saved him for each other.” He was looking at you too earnestly, too…expectantly, but you just barely had time enough to realize this before he was swooping down and pressing his lips against yours.

His body was familiar, even through the haze of alcohol that shrouded the night of the dance—large and strong and warm, but wrong. His lips, plumper and softer than your prince’s managed to be less demanding and yet even more insidious as his tongue slid between them to probe at your own lips, tightly closed. His hold on you was strong, but your will to escape was even stronger, and you finally managed to squirm away from him. Instead of fleeing back into the safety of the palace, you merely retreated a few more steps and stood glaring at him with your hands on your hips.

“How dare you?” Your voice was low, crackling with anger the way the skies crackle with electricity before a storm.

Thor, however, was not intimidated. He laughed, a genuine and heartfelt sound that boomed through the garden. “Look at my brother’s little bird, puffing herself up in her gilded feathers to appear more threatening. What are you going to do, little bird? Will you sic my broken brother on me? Will he defend your honor against the brother he has known and loved for his entire life?” He grinned, and it was dangerous. “I could have you here and now. I could leave my mark on your precious skin and send you back to him bleeding and sobbing, and he would think you nothing more than a disloyal slut.”

Perhaps it was true. Loki had been so angry in his quarters after your dance. And he had never actually said that he believed your story: he had simply let the matter drop when you collapsed, crying, onto his bed. Blood was rushing through your veins, icy and dizzying, but you held your ground. “It would be the very last thing you did,” you warned. “I am not all feathers and fluff like your mother’s ladies, my lord. I was raised in a village alongside plenty of men like you, and I have already learned to bear the fury of Prince Loki. What makes you think you could take me without a fight?”

Your words might have been more effective if you had been able to summon more anger or power or even simply more volume to put behind them, but the wind carried them to the prince well enough, because he gave one short laugh.

“Shall we try, then?” He asked, and immediately lunged at you. One hand closed itself painfully around one of your wrists, but you lashed out with your free hand, digging your fingernails into whatever exposed skin they could find. The sound that ripped from his throat was akin to a roar of rage, and he fell back again. Fierce red scratches now adorned his face. You had missed his eye (a mixed blessing, you imagined, as your heart pounded in your chest), but blood was already starting to trickle down his face from the new wounds. He released your arm and pressed his hand to his cheek, glaring at you all the while. “I can have you beheaded,” he spat. “Attacking a royal prince?”

You did not wait for the prince’s rage to fade, or even try to explain yourself. Instead, you did what you should have done in the first place: you ran.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Err...at this point, I can't help but assume that anyone who's made it this far in this story isn't really at risk of being triggered by anything new that I add, but there is a...rather adult scene coming up. Without spoiling anything, if you've ever read any kind of smut at all and not been freaked out by it, then you should be okay. If I'm assuming incorrectly, then by all means let me know and I'll do my best to make it up to you.

Your brain must have been working at least twice as fast as your legs carried you, because as you fled the garden, you found the time to send a silent thanks to whomever or whatever had chosen this dress for you today. In a more restrictive dress, it would have been harder to breathe, but your lungs had no problems expanding to fuel your flight across the grounds. In reality, your speed was all for naught: where could you go, after all? If you went back to your room, it would be that much easier for the guards to find you when Thor sent them after you. Loki needed to rest and heal, so you could not go to him, even if you did not abhor the idea of having to face him like this anyway. You could try to find the queen and explain yourself to her before Thor had the chance to roar you down, but could you bear to look like a child running to tattle to an adult? 

There was nowhere to hide.

You stopped running when your feet hit the stones just inside the palace doors and you ducked into a shadowy alcove to catch your breath. You fought to breathe for what felt like ages before you realized that you were crying—sobbing and trembling as you struggled to stay on your feet. The stone of the wall felt cool and soothing when you leaned against it for support, and slowly (oh so slowly) you began to regain control of yourself. Finally you lifted the hem of your skirt just high enough to wipe the tears from your face. How humiliating.

You were still worried about what would happen to you when Thor told someone what you had done in the garden (it would undoubtedly be your word against his, and it was a rare parent indeed who would take the side of a stranger against their own flesh and blood), but now that your outburst was waning, the fear was less all-consuming. Perhaps you would go to see Loki, after all. It was a foolish idea—on a good day, he could take one look at you and immediately know that something was wrong, but perhaps he was still woozy from losing all that blood. And seeing him, even for a little while, was surely preferable to spending what could be your last few hours of freedom hiding in dark corners. So you smoothed your hair back and took a deep bracing breath before making your way to the prince’s room.

You opened the door quietly, so as not to disturb him if he was sleeping, but you really should have known better. He was pacing before the window, shirtless and looking for all the world like a trapped animal. The angry red cuts that had laced his chest that morning had now faded, and most of them were hardly more than pinkish scars marring his skin. You were no healer, but with how quickly things were progressing, surely his stitches could be removed that very evening. You let the door fall into place behind you, and he jerked his head around to look at you.

“Had I known that just a few words from the lady Eir were enough to keep you penned up in your quarters, I might have asked for her to be invited for dinner a very long time ago,” you said, in a voice that held just a little too much lightness. You would not allow him to find out.

“Teasing your wounded prince? Just hours ago, you had to seize me from the precipice of death with your own delicate hands, and now you jest?” He held his wounded expression for a moment or two, but let it drop in favor of guarded smile. “Are you feeling better? When you fled from my quarters this morning, you looked like a shade. I thought you might fade away entirely.”

The expression on your face felt like a cross between a smile and a wince. “Yes, Loki. It…it must have been the blood, I suppose. I am feeling much better now.”

He studied you thoughtfully. “You do not need to lie to me, pet. I can see as plainly as the day that you are still not well.” 

You shifted your weight from one foot to another, but the prince spoke before you could find the words to explain yourself. “So much the better. We can spend the day recovering together.” He gave you a wicked grin that set your cheeks ablaze. “My wounds are healed enough now that I can think of a few ways to pass the time. You might have to take the lead, though: I would not wish the lady Eir to scold me for exerting myself.”

“Loki…” You tried to admonish him, but your voice wobbled a little too much. After Thor’s threats, the last thing that you wanted to hear at the moment was more jokes about…that. He raised his hands in defense and offered another guarded smile, though this one did not reach his eyes.

“Alright, darling, I was joking. Would you like to go for a walk instead? I am sure that Eir’s already commanded the men in the stables to keep me from riding today, but fresh air is supposed to be good for one’s constitution.”

“No,” you said, just a little too sharply. If you had been looking at the prince, you might have noticed the way his eyes narrowed at the sound of your voice, but instead you were studying your hands and the way they twisted in your skirt. “Please, Loki, can we just stay here? I’d like to…spend time with you, that’s all.” Inwardly, you winced at the words the moment they left your mouth, because surely Loki would seize upon them immediately, laughing or teasing you about how quickly your attitudes towards him had shifted. 

And you were not wrong. Well, not entirely wrong, anyway. Loki laughed softly—honestly, it sounded more like a quick puff of air escaping his lips than an actual laugh—but when he spoke his voice was all surprise and innocence. “Isn’t it funny, my lady, how only weeks ago, you loathed me and wished me dead, but now not only do you request time alone with me, but you also fight to save my life?”

Even if you were not worried about guards bursting through the door and dragging you to a dungeon, this was not how you wanted to spend your afternoon. “You must indeed be feeling better, my lord,” you finally offered, with a curtsy. “If you are well enough to ridicule me, you must be well on your way to a full recovery.” It was childish to let his words affect you so much today, especially when you had already vowed to hide your discomfort from him, but tears pricked indignantly at the corners of your eyes.

The prince said nothing for a long time, leaving you with just enough time to regret what you had said. Finally, he spoke again: “Come here.”

It was a familiar sound: this was a command. It reminded you that it did not matter how long you had been at the palace or how tenderly the prince had begun to treat you: you were still, by all accounts, his property, at least according to the customs of the royal ball. You held back your sigh and obeyed, moving towards Loki until you were within arm’s reach, but no closer.

But he still did not speak. You could feel his eyes on your face, perhaps willing you to look up at him, but you could not bear it. Instead, your gaze hovered around Loki’s navel, taking in the new scars and the old and the way they cut through the paleness of his skin. In a different situation, you might have raised one hand to trace along the lightest one, but right now you kept your hands clasped in front of you so tightly that your fingers ached.

He did not scold you, or crack a joke about your behavior, or demand that you tell him what was troubling you. In fact, all that he did, after a few more moments of intense scrutiny, was step forward and wrap his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. Your response was automatic: your hands came up to push him away and you choked out a sob. He had become his brother. Despite the familiar coolness that seeped through the fabric of your dress to press against your skin, despite the smell that by now had become as well-known to you as your own, despite the fact that he was as un-Thor as he could possibly be, your overworked mind warned you of danger, and you had to get away. But he would not release you. He withstood your frantic swiping and clawing, and even when your hand found the wound in his side, he merely grunted in your ear and held you more tightly. 

“You have been trembling since you set foot in my quarters,” he murmured against your hair, and you heard every word perfectly, despite your terror. “Darling, what is it? Tell me.” He waited patiently as the fight drained from you, supported you as you sagged against him. “What is it?”

That was one mistake you would not make. However the prince would react, it would not be good. You could see him getting angry with you and banishing you from his quarters just as easily as you could see him stalking away to try to do battle against his brother. “I am so tired,” you answered. You could only hope that you sounded pathetic enough to garner his sympathy. “Please, sire.”

“What can I refuse the woman who saved my life?” It sounded like more teasing, but before you could draw yourself away from him and flee to your own quarters, his fingers began to search the back of your dress. After a moment or two, he made a sound of realization and stooped to lift the skirt up over your head. Your brain screamed for you to run away, but you stayed frozen. You were suddenly exhausted.

The prince merely removed your dress and tossed it carefully into a nearby chair before pulling you into his arms again. Thor was fading from your mind as you relaxed against Loki’s cool body. After all, what could he do to you in here? Even if he burst through the doors screaming and raving, and you stood before him without a scrap of clothing, Loki would not allow anything to happen to you. 

“That’s better,” he all but purred in your ear as he drew his fingertips up and down your back, caressing you. “Is this not more comfortable, pet?”

“Yes, my lord,” you mumbled back. He lifted you up and against his body, then carried you over to place you gently on the mattress amid the furs and pillows. Had it really only been hours since you were here last? Your body ached as though you had been awake for days. You laid there on your back for a moment, relishing the perfect softness of the bed, and then turned onto your side, away from the prince. For a few moments, you heard nothing, and knew that he must still be standing there, studying the lines of your body. It sent strange thrills through you, but also caused your stomach to tighten nervously. Had your struggle with Thor left any evidence on your skin? Finally, though, you heard his light footsteps carry him around the bed, and he sank into the mattress beside you. 

“Thank you, Loki,” you murmured, and gathered the courage to reach out and caress the skin of his stomach. He closed his hand around yours, holding it in place.

“You are safe here, darling. Always.” 

This was the man you had spent most of your life vaguely fearing. This was the man who parents sometimes teased their children with when they misbehaved—‘If you don’t behave, I’m going to take you to the palace and sell you to Prince Loki’. This was the man you’d spent an entire night running from, and the following weeks living in constant fear of. How was it possible for him to be so careful, so tender, when his reputation was for such tyranny and cruelty? Overcome with confusion, and perhaps a little guilt, you squirmed up the bed to press your lips to his. 

He did not react at first, likely feeling just as confused as you were, but then his hands snaked up and around you, one pressing against the small of your back and the other wrapping around the back of your neck to hold you closer to him. Even when you broke the kiss, he maintained his grasp on you, so that you could only pull away so far.

“Are you alright?” he asked again, and you were still so close that his lips were brushing against yours. You nodded wordlessly. How was it possible to feel like this so soon after…what had happened in the garden?

Loki smiled faintly and, in one swift movement, pulled you so that you were no longer lying next to him, but instead were sitting astride him. His arousal was pressing insistently between your legs, his trousers the only barrier between you. He moved his hips a few times, thrusting up and against you and hitting you in just the right way to steal your breath.

“Loki—” you all but whined, bracing yourself carefully against his chest. He moved his hands to your hips now, gripping them tightly and guiding you in a grinding motion against him. Your cheeks burned even as your body reacted to this new feeling, and soon you were moving your hips on your own. 

“That’s it, pet.” His eyes were dark when they met yours. “Take pleasure in my body. I want to watch you. Just like that.” You wanted to stop, to retrieve your dress and hide yourself, and maybe even flee from the room, but his voice, low and raspy and full of desire, spurred you onwards. He couldn’t be getting much pleasure for himself out of this, you thought to yourself even as your eyes slipped closed at the feelings he was giving you. Not through his trousers, surely? But he did not seem to grow bored or impatient as he urged you onwards, his dark voice pushing you past your desire to hide yourself. 

Your lips fell open as your climax began to build, and the prince must have noted the change in your body language as well, because he continued to hold you steady. You wanted to move more quickly, more erratically, to chase the pleasure that seemed to ebb and flow like the tide, but he would not allow it. Perhaps he knew better, because when it finally did crash down around you, it wracked through you completely. Your eyes clenched against the pleasure, and the way you rocked against the prince’s body drew it out, prolonged it until you were trembling with it. Loki did not allow you to stop moving until your breathing grew steady again, and when you opened your eyes to look at him, his expression was one of open lust. 

“Is it your turn, my prince?” You somehow managed to speak despite the shyness that was quickly returning. He nodded mutely. You knew what to do.

You slid down his body to pull at the waist of his trousers, and he arched his back up off of the bed to help you as you tugged them down past his knees, his ankles, and finally dropped them to the floor. You started to settle between his legs, but before you could take him into your mouth, he hooked his hands under your arms to pull you back up to straddle his waist.

“That’s not good enough,” he choked out. Before it could even occur to you to be hurt by his words, he was reaching between you and guiding his cock up to slide it against your wetness, and then press it to your entrance. Oh. He moved his hand back to your hips and pressed just a little bit deeper inside you, but stopped before long. “Slowly, love. It’s probably going to hurt again, so go as slow as you need to.” 

You didn’t move at first. How were you supposed to do this? You had only ever done anything even remotely similar to this once before, and then it was Loki who had done most of the work. But he pushed you down just a little, urging you onwards, and you found that you were able to move past your uncertainty. He looked so desperate that he wouldn’t be able to tease you for your unlearned mistakes, would he?

So you sank down slowly, waiting for the pain to return. And at first, it was uncomfortable, but you were able to adjust to his intrusion much more quickly, and when he was fully inside you, you felt more of a pleasant stretching sensation than the tearing pain from before. Feeling almost giddy, you moved your hips in a slow circle, getting used to the new feelings of sitting astride him like his. His grip loosened to a soft touch and a pleasured moan ripped from his throat. 

“Just like that, darling, you’re doing perfectly.” He thrust against you just once, driving just deep enough into you that your muscles clenched around him, and then stopped moving. It was strange to have such power over this man, but the way he threw his head back as you began to move your hips again…well, that was…something.

You moved much the same way you had been moving moments before—sliding along his length while moving your hips in a rolling rhythm. He had seemed to like it before, after all. He rewarded you by bucking his hips up against you, meeting your hips and driving deeper each time. 

“Faster,” he groaned, his entrancing eyes hidden behind his eyelids. “Please, pet, faster.” 

You tried to comply, but faltered once or twice as you lost your rhythm in your desire to make the prince feel good. Finally, he seemed to lose patience—or perhaps was just overcome with need—and lifted your wrists from off his chest, binding them tightly behind your back with just one of his hands. He used the other to hold you steady, pressing against your breastbone to give you something to lean against even as he thrust up inside you, moving frantically. Desperately. 

It was all you could do to stay upright, despite the support he offered, as you allowed him to buck and plunge within you. He was uttering something under his breath, but his words were largely unintelligible. Finally, just as you felt as though you were going to explode from all the sensations he was pressing upon you, he gritted out a string of nonsense words and curses, expelled with a forceful burst of breath, and his movements slowed. 

His eyes were closed, his lips parted by the effort of breathing, and even when his hips stilled, you could feeling him throbbing inside you. You moved against him a few more times, a faint smile on your face, and finally he dragged his eyes open again to meet yours. He looked…dazed. You had to catch your breath, so struck by the realization that you had done that to him.

“That was wonderful,” he said, his voice low and thick. “You were perfect.”

It was easy to blame the heat in your cheeks on all of the exertion you had just done, but if you were being very honest with yourself, it was mostly a shy sort of pride creeping through you. The prince was breathless and stunning beneath you, his chest still heaving. His hair was a mess, spread out as it was around his head on the pillows, and you started to reach out to smooth your fingers through it, but Loki was still holding both of your hands rather tightly behind your back. He grinned knowingly at you and managed two more thrusts before releasing your arms. 

Immediately, you reached out to touch his hair, stroking from his temple to the back of his head, and then carefully working through the tangles that surrounded his perfect face. Gradually, the prince grew soft enough that he slipped easily out of you, and the warm rush of his seed that dripped out with him was so intimate, so strange, that you had to turn your face away from his.

“We’ve made a mess,” you finally whispered, moving off of him to slide carefully off of the bed. 

“It’s nothing,” he said. He propped himself up on one elbow to watch you with those predatory eyes as you stood uncomfortably beside the bed. The stickiness cooling on your thighs was strange, and yet…not entirely repugnant. It gave you a strange pleasure, knowing that you had coaxed your prince to climax, and that the evidence was obvious, but that very same pleasure made you feel somehow impure. “I will call someone to change the bed before we sleep tonight.”

“Do you have to?” The thought of subjecting some poor servant to something so personal and private was mortifying. “I can make a bed, Loki, if someone brings fresh sheets.”

He smirked and sat up to scoot to the edge of the bed. “Darling, you live in the palace, with the prince. You need not do another dull chore for as long as you live.”

“I don’t mind it,” you answered quickly. “Honestly, sire. I’d like to do it.”

But he merely shook his head. “Someone else will do it. Tonight, you will be falling asleep in fresh sheets. Why is it so difficult for you to allow someone else to serve you?”

You shrugged. It was not worth inciting an argument, especially when you remembered that it was very likely that you would be falling asleep in a cold prison cell as opposed to the prince’s clean bed. “I am sorry, Loki,” was your only response, but it encompassed so much.

“There is nothing to forgive.” Loki stood up and took you into his arms, and you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Stubborn pet.” But there was a smile in his words, and he led you into the washroom. Without a word, he began drawing a bath, and soon the tub was full of steaming water. He glanced at you and added a few drops of some kind of oil, which filled the room with the smell of the white flowers from the garden at night. It was wonderful. You closed your eyes to drink it in, and heard the soft splashing as Loki sank into the tub. “Won’t you join me? We made a mess together, so we might as well clean it up together.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him. His skin was like alabaster against the rich emerald of the tub, and when he leaned his head back against the rim, you were struck by the sudden urge to run your tongue along the exquisite lines of his neck. You took a moment to mentally send your gratitude to Eir, wherever she happened to be, for braiding your hair into its fancy updo, because you did not really want to get it wet again today and wait for it to dry. Then you stepped carefully into the tub with the prince, leaning against the opposite side and resting your head against the back. It was much larger than the tub in your own washroom, so you both fit rather comfortably, though your legs had to tangle together in the center. When the heat of the water had soothed your muscles into delicious relaxation, you opened your eyes again—and, as always, saw Loki watching you. 

“Shall I wash you?” you asked, a mischievous smile creeping across your face. “Or would you prefer to call someone else for that, my lord?”

He narrowed his eyes at you for a moment, but broke into a grin. “Oh no, pet, I think you will do nicely.”

And so you lathered up your hands with the fragrant soap and smoothed them against the prince’s chest. The water had begun to warm him, so he felt almost like any other person. You did not speak the thought out loud, just barely allowing your lips to curl into a secret smile. If the prince noticed, he did not question you, not even as you took extra care not to jab or otherwise disturb the wound in his side. Despite your struggles earlier, and the prince’s vigorous exercise, it was still healing nicely. You drew soapy hands along the length of both of the prince’s arms, massaging his muscles as you did. He was not bulky and outwardly strong like his brother, but there was plenty of strength there beneath his skin. 

When you were finished with his arms and torso, Loki looked at you cheekily and lifted one leg out of the water. Well, fine. You washed his legs as thoroughly and obediently as you’d done for his arms, once again appraising and appreciating his muscles. Without prompting, you slid your hand up between his legs to cup his testicles, to grip his shaft, all under the guise of cleaning him. His eyes, once fixed hungrily on you, now slipped closed as he sighed. You pulled your hand away abruptly. 

“Turn around, my lord, so that I might wash your back,” you said innocently. “We’re nearly finished now.”

“Oh, we haven’t even begun yet,” Loki said in a husky voice, though he did as you requested, careful not to slosh any water out of the tub. You washed his back, trying to ignore the faded scars in favor of caressing his skin and muscle, and when you had rinsed him off, you pressed a kiss to the very top of his back, where part of his spine jutted up against the skin. You wrapped yourself around him from behind and held him tightly. “There is magic in your hands, pet,” he said. “Now let me work my own. Turn around.”

You did as he asked, though you would really have preferred to protest, and in a moment or two, his hands were gliding along your back. Even though the water was still comfortably warm, goosebumps erupted in the wake of his touch. He would have noticed them, of course, but said nothing, just trailed kissed along your shoulders and pulled you backwards to rest against his chest. You could only watch as his hands came forward to cup your breasts, massaging them and pulling lightly on your nipples. It did not take long before he had coaxed them to attention, but as soon as he did, he moved on. He moved on to your belly, laving it with the same gentle attention as your breasts, and then sat the two of you forward to glide his hands between your thighs under the water. His teeth sank lightly into your shoulders as he gripped your flesh. You squirmed when two fingers sought and found entrance, though of course he moved on just as you were beginning to moan. Frustrated, you let your head fall backwards against his shoulder. His chuckle not only reached your ear, but also rumbled through his body into yours.

He drew one of your arms out of the water and trailed soap along it, rubbing and squeezing and allowing all of your remaining tension to drain right out of your body. You closed your eyes and sighed softly, relishing the heat of the water against the relative coolness of the air when he lowered your arm back into the tub. 

When he pulled your other arm up to wash it, however, you felt him pause, taking extra care to wrap his fingers lightly around your wrist. When you opened your eyes to see what he was doing, you saw it. There was a mark, reddish-purple, glaring angrily from your skin. This was the arm that Thor had grasped in the garden. “Did I hurt you?” Loki asked. “I am sorry, pet. I don’t like leaving marks I didn’t intend to leave.”

“It was not you,” you answered immediately, wishing to reassure the prince. But you regretted the words as soon as you’d spoken them, because you felt his body stiffen beneath yours.

“Then who was it?” His voice was still soft, but demanding. When you didn’t answer, he sat forward and gripped your chin carefully so you could not move away. “Who dared to lay their hand on you? Tell me.”

“It was no one,” you said lamely. “My prince, please. I know it looks bad, but I think maybe it is from how I slept last night.”

“Do. Not. Lie to me.” He was angry now, and you could tell that he would not try for very much longer to keep it contained. He held your chin more tightly now, kept your head tilted back against his shoulder and your throat exposed. “Who decided that they could press their mark into my beloved’s skin and escape punishment?”

The new endearment set your head to spinning, but you tried to force your surprise away. Now was not the time. Nor was it the time to tattle on Thor. The afternoon had been so nice up until now, until you opened your big mouth. You searched frantically for an explanation that might satisfy the prince.

“You were asleep,” you finally said, trying to turn your head to hide your face in the prince’s neck. “You were feverish and violent and you grabbed me when I was trying to bind your wrists to the bed to keep you from ripping your wounds open.” The memory of the night before was still fresh enough to make your voice waver as you spoke. “It is your mark, Loki, but you did not do it, not really. It was not intentional.”

He sat back uneasily, and released your chin. You were not quite sure whether he believed you, but it was a kiss of death to try to add more detail to a lie, so you held your tongue, waiting for him to break the silence between you. 

“Look at me, pet. Swear to me that no one else has touched you, and that you are unharmed, and that I do not need to tear any of my father’s men limb from limb.” It was not hard to tell that he was still angry, but at least his voice was not so heated now. You sat up and moved to straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“I swear it,” you answered sweetly, because what else could you say? “My lord prince, you need not destroy anyone in order to defend my honor.” That was something approaching the truth, in any case. You pressed your forehead against his, willing him to drop the subject. The truth would be revealed soon enough, whenever Thor sicced the guards upon you. Loki could hate you then, when you were sentenced to death or imprisonment or servitude to the royal family, or whatever punishment was deemed appropriate, but you could not bear the thought of him being angry with you for another second while you were free.

Finally his arms encircled your back and he pulled you in for a kiss. “If my lady says it, then it will be so,” he said, sliding his fingers along the slippery skin of your back. “Do you feel clean?”

You thought for a moment, and nodded. It was true. The afternoon had done a lot towards cleansing you of the morning in the garden, and you were feeling more like yourself again. It was a good feeling. You ventured a smile at Loki before pulling away so the two of you could get out of the tub. He wrapped a towel around you, pressing a kiss to one shoulder, before drying himself off. 

You could not help but watch him move: he was as graceful as ever, without the slightest hint of unsteadiness from his wounds. Thus, reassured that he would survive, you allowed yourself to watch the beads of water trickle down his side and disappear into the towel. He was in no hurry to dry off, apparently perfectly at home in the chill air of the palace, so there was plenty of water to observe. Without realizing it, you stepped forward and drew your tongue along his collar bone. You knew that it was just normal water, the same that was used in tea or just to drink plain, but something—either the fragrant oils or your prince’s skin itself—seemed to flavor it. Sipping it from his skin, it tasted sweet. You looked up at him, bracing yourself for the teasing words that he would undoubtedly have for you, but nothing came. Your embarrassment dried up when you realized that his eyes had grown dark again.

“You…taste good, my lord,” you said. He smirked at you before lowering his mouth to the top of your shoulder. He sucked lightly, and his tongue was velvet where it darted out to trace your skin. You tilted your head to the side to give him better access, and he sank his teeth knowingly into your flesh and tendons.

“As do you, my pet,” he said against your shoulder. “You make me want to devour you.”

You shuddered, knowing perfectly well that it had more to do with the prince’s words than the air of the castle, but drew the towel more tightly around your body all the same. “Brr, my lord,” you said, forcing a certain lightness into your words that you did not actually feel. “It is cold in here. We should dress, lest we catch a chill.”

“No, we would not want that,” Loki agreed amiably, and followed you back out into his room. His eyes followed your every movement—when you bent to dry each of your legs, as you drew the towel around your back and along your torso (and breasts, to which you both paid particular attention), and down each of your arms. The prince continued to stand there in the doorway with his towel slung around his hips even when you stooped to retrieve your dress and pulled it down over your head. 

When you were finished, you turned to finally meet the prince’s eyes. “Do you need me to dry and dress you, my lord, or is your strength returning to you now?”

Loki laughed—one quick, short laugh that you would have liked to hear over and over again—and began to dry himself. “I managed myself before you, pet, and I daresay I’ll manage now that I have you.” He looked up from drying one of his legs. “Though I would be tempted to trade all of my strength in return for the guarantee of your touch.”

His words, and the way he was looking at you, made your body feel as though it was a bell struck by a mallet. Your skin hummed for a moment, the pit of your stomach clenched pleasantly, and your heart skipped a beat. Well. You fought to find your words—any words, really, just enough to hide how much he had effected you. “Well, sire, I shall be here as long as you wish me to be.” They were silly and obvious,, but at least you had not stuttered your way through a nonsense sentence.

Loki dropped his towel and closed the distance between you in just a few steps. He pressed one finger beneath your chin to tilt your head up towards his. “Then you shall be here forever,” he said, and slanted his mouth over yours. His kiss stole your breath and made the rest of the world fade out around you. There was just the prince and his mouth and his body, cool and still slick beneath your hands. You could have stood there all night, wrapped in his arms as he drank from your lips, but all too soon you were interrupted by a sharp knocking on the door.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll have to forgive me for a bit of self-indulgence with the Queen's scene in this chapter. I was really missing my own mother when I wrote it, so I needed a bit of motherliness or something. :) If you're missing your own, I hope this chapter gives you a little bit of comfort too.

Loki did not want to answer the knocking on the door any more than you wanted him to, if his reluctance to break the kiss was any indication. If anything, he tightened his arms around you and pressed his lips more firmly to yours. At first, you allowed it to happen. You knew that this could very well be the very last time he would kiss you, the very last time you would feel him holding you. But when the knocking resumed, insistent, you pushed the prince away and tried not to sigh.

He stalked to the door without even bothering to cover himself, and swung it wide open as though his nakedness were no big deal. Perhaps it was not. You could not watch, though, and hid your face with embarrassment and a little too much fear even as you heard the very female gasp from the doorway.

“M…my l-lord.” Whoever stood before him was trying very hard to find her words. You could only imagine the way her eyes would skitter away from the sight before her. Perhaps she had closed them. “I am sorry, sire, but the Queen requests an audience with my lady.”

You lowered your hands just as Loki turned to you. His lips were quirked in a half-smile, and his cock stood almost at attention. The poor servant in the doorway. He spread his arms wide. “My mother would like to see you,” he repeated with a little shrug. “Be sure to tell her how you have left me. It might encourage her to speak more quickly.”

You made your way to the door on heavy legs. It would suit you just fine if the queen decided to speak at length—about anything and everything that happened to cross her mind—because you had the sinking feeling that, when she was finished speaking, your life was going to change drastically once again, this time for the worse.

It was Rowan who stood there waiting for you, her face still flushed pink from the sight of the prince in all his…well, all his glory. She curtsied to you, and you inclined your head in response. You would have curtsied back to her, but the prince was still watching, and you did not wish to get her into trouble, or invite more teasing. Before you left, he grabbed your elbow and pulled you to him gently. 

“Hurry back, pet. My quarters are a prison without you.”

It was as though he knew the inside of your mind, to some degree. Your only response was a small nod and a halfhearted kiss when he pressed his mouth against yours. When he pulled away again, you stepped through the doors and followed Rowan into the labyrinth that lay beyond them.

Under different circumstances, you might have made conversation with the young woman walking beside you. Your brain even conjured topics to talk about: whether she was making much progress with her reading, an apology for not having been able to bring her to the library in quite some time, or perhaps a general inquiry into the wellbeing of the servants of the palace. But your tongue was glued to the roof of your mouth, and you feared that nothing would unstick it.

The silence seemed to suit Rowan just fine, however, as she led you to the throne room without trying to press words from you. You expected her to leave you at the door, but she only paused a moment and looked over at you. Still without speaking, she slipped her hand into yours and offered a quick squeeze before looking away and letting go of you. But, somehow, it was enough. The warmth from her hand spread slowly up your arm, fortifying you from within. Whatever else would happen, you had defended yourself—and from a royal prince, no less. He had intended dark cruelty towards you, but you had stopped it. That small victory would carry you through whatever the consequences would be.

You followed Rowan into the throne room. The Queen was sitting in her throne at the top of the stairs, but as the two of you entered, she rose and descended. You and Rowan both sank into a deep curtsy at the same time, and a heavy sigh fell from the Queen’s lips. “That will do,” she said. Her voice was tired. You straightened once again. “Child, how have you been treated here?”

You could not help yourself—you looked up at the queen with surprise. “Very well, your Highness. Extremely well. Life within the palace walls has exceeded my wildest imaginings. I cannot express my gratitude to you enough.” You curtsied again, though this time not quite as deeply. But your words did nothing to ease the weariness on the Queen’s face.

“And my son?”

Had you not already had this conversation? Was she unwell—delirious, perhaps, or otherwise debilitated by some sinister illness? “Your Highness, Prince Loki treats me like—” Like what? You tried to ignore the heat suffusing your cheeks as you searched for the appropriate words. Like a treasure. Like something precious, valuable, worthy of attention beyond the coarse leering and laughter of the men from your village. And yet somehow more than that. He did speak of you like a belonging sometimes, but when exactly had his endearments begun to shift from “pet” to “darling”? But of course you could not reveal this to the queen. “He is wonderful, my Queen.”

“This is good to hear, child,” she said, reaching to tuck an escaped strand of hair back into your braid. “And my other son?”

Thor. Your mind raced, still trying to find appropriate words, but this time in a way that would allow you to hide your repugnance for the man. Without thinking about it, you cast a look toward Rowan, but she stood stock-still with her eyes trained on the ground before her, and thus offered no assistance. You were running out of time. “Just the same,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. If you spoke too quickly, or your voice squeaked or cracked, that was it. You hated that you were having to lie so often, to people who mattered so much to you, and it only made you hate Thor even more fiercely. “We have not had much occasion to speak, my Queen, but he is a strong man, and he will be a great king someday.” You had to make a conscious effort not to hesitate before finishing your sentence, but you succeeded. 

The queen nodded and wrapped both of your hands in hers. Her hands were soft as they smoothed over your skin. You tried not to look at the mark on your wrist, and could only hope that she would not notice it, either. It was not as monstrous as it had been in the bath—perhaps it was fading, or perhaps the heat had temporarily exacerbated it. In the flickering torchlight, it could almost pass for a shadow.

“And he treats you well? He will be your brother soon enough, if things go as we have discussed.”

She spoke as though that possibility were not already destroyed, which gave you the tiniest glimmer of hope. This lie came easily, because it was not completely a lie: “My Queen, Thor is as kind a brother to me as my own flesh and blood in the village.”

Her face did not relax as you had hoped it would: if anything, your words caused more worry to take up residence in her eyes. She raised your hands to her lips, not to kiss them, but to breathe against your skin. It was only now that you realized how chilled you were. “Many of the villages outside the palace walls are terrible places for women,” she said. “They are harsh and brutish and demanding, and I have taken in countless women who have arrived at the gates begging for safety.” She gripped your hands even more tightly. “The small one, the girl assigned to you—her mother tried to pay me to take her in, to protect her from her male cousins and her own father.” 

She fell silent just long enough for your mind to take hold of her words, make sense of them. Sindri’s own family? The nightmares she’d mentioned one of your first mornings in the palace—had hers really been about the palace? You wanted to find her and hold her tightly and never let go of her.

But you should be apologizing. You had just compared the Queen’s son to one of the men from the villages outside, those very men that she now renounced. Should you throw yourself at her feet and attempt to explain that you had meant no harm? Could you convince another that you truly did love your brother, when you could barely convince yourself that you did not despise him?

“I have fought to make my palace the very opposite of the world outside,” she was saying. She had yet to let go of your hands. “My husband’s men know better than to harm my servants—I have seen to that. My guests are to be honored, and my children protected.”

This…this did not seem like scolding any longer. Only now did the Queen drop your hands, and then it was only to guide your chin up to force you to meet her gaze. “Why do you not speak up?” She demanded, but her voice wavered ever so slightly. “You will stand in defense of one of my girls, a servant you do not know, but in your own defense you will remain silent?”

“Thor—?” You did not know exactly what you were asking, but the Queen did, somehow.

“He came to me this afternoon demanding retribution,” she replied with a nod. “And I admit that my first instinct as a mother was to believe him. But my first instinct as a queen was to seek out justice. There is too much gentleness in you for me to believe that you would ever do someone harm intentionally and without provocation.”

It was, perhaps, her own polite, regal way of calling you overly-timid, but if it had saved you, you would take it in stride. You tried to lower your eyes, but she tapped your chin, just lightly enough to draw your gaze back to hers. Her face was unsmiling, but her eyes spoke volumes.

“Before I could send a messenger to retrieve you, Rowan was at my side. She heard Thor’s anger and came to defend you.”

“I saw it all, my lady.” Rowan’s voice was tiny but strong in the cavernous room. “I was hanging some linens out to dry, and I saw everything. I wanted to save you like you saved me, but I was afraid. I hid, and then came in to tell the queen when I saw you get away safely.”

Your knees felt weak and wobbly, like you could simply collapse with relief and gratitude towards these women. They were of such differing status, and yet they cared, not just about you but about every other woman in the castle—and perhaps, at least in the case of the queen, in the whole world. 

“He will not bother you again. I have taken care to remind him who he is, and from whom he arrived. It was a much-needed lesson.” She pulled your face closer to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You must not live here in fear. This is your home. You should have come to me immediately so I could set things right.”

“I did not wish to add to your duties as Queen,” you said, perhaps wisely deciding against telling her that you had feared she would take Thor’s side. Now you could see how foolish a thought that was. “And I felt childish.”

“Did it feel better to cry alone in a dark corner?” Her words were knowing, and you felt yourself blushing again. “There are servants even where they cannot be seen, and my own hearing has not yet started to go.”

The meeting had not gone as horribly as you had expected, no, but you were mortified all the same. This was not how an esteemed guest (or resident) of the palace should behave. Scrapping in the gardens and crying in darkened corners, all while the queen observed. “I am sorry, my Queen.” Perhaps you had been gone from your father’s home for too long—you would never have been caught carrying on in such a manner there.

“When did you last speak with your mother, child? Do you miss her very much?” She was wary, and you suddenly wondered if some of her tiredness was not, in fact, guilt. 

“I used to miss her very badly,” you answered with some difficulty. “But now the pain is not always so sharp. I can get through days at a time, even weeks without missing her.”

“You may send for her if you wish. We can send a carriage to her and bring her to visit.”

It was strane that she did not know, but then again, why should a queen have knowledge of every family in the villages? You smiled softly, hoping that your words would not offend her or make her feel foolish.

“I am sorry, your Highness, I should have been more clear. My mother is long dead. She died when I was but a child. There is no need to worry about me—I am content here.” 

You had hoped to soothe some of the lines in the woman’s countenance, but if anything, your words had the opposite effect. She took your hand again and led you to sit with her on the steps before the throne. “A child growing into womanhood with no mother. It seems like a crime.”

“It was not so bad,” you said, though your words were not particularly convincing. She kept your hand in her lap.

“Tell me. What was your life like before you came to the palace? Spare no detail.” 

This was…absurd. The prince inquiring into your history over dinner together was one thing. The Queen however—she had other duties to attend to. She had a kingdom and a palace full of nobles and servants to look after. How could she possibly have time for this? But her face was serious and unwavering, and so you began to speak and simply did not stop. At first, you were cautious, self-censoring. You did not tell her about the first time your father hit you (you were seven years old and burned dinner because you could not see into the pot over the cookfire). Surprisingly, you did tell her about the first morning you awoke to bloodied sheets, but you did not tell her about your fears that someone—your brother or father or one of their friends—was to blame. You told her about the big tree behind your home, and the forest that lay beyond. You almost slipped and bragged about the summer you climbed higher than Falki, even though your father had kicked you too hard in the side only weeks before and the grinding pain in your ribs had been brutal.

But did your past really matter one way or the other? It did not seem to have any bearing on your life in the palace. You had already been told countless times that you were a guest despite your humble background. Why not forget about it, then, and allow it to disappear into history?

When you finally reached the end of your story—your father giving you the box holding that green-and-golden gown—you trailed off and looked at your hands, not sure now what to say. But the Queen saved you—she squeezed your hand gently.

“Your life has been so different from mine,” she said softly. “And my sons’. You will be good for Loki. Better than you know.”

She stood, so of course you did as well, and finally released your hand. By now she had been holding you for so long that it felt strange to have been freed. You missed her touch. “You may go now. My son is not pacing back and forth in front of the doors, which tells me that he must be pacing back and forth in his quarters. Go to him, so that he might rest a while before dinner.”

“Yes, my Queen.” You curtsied deeply and then backed away from her, out the door. Rowan followed, glancing shyly at you.

“No wonder you are so kind to us,” she whispered. “My lady, we have all heard rumors, but I was not sure whether to believe them.” Her eyes were shining. “My family is from a village not far from yours.”

“Then it is almost as though we were sisters,” you said, with a little laugh. But your words saddened you. Regardless of how you felt, you were not considered of the same status as Rowan at all. You were the companion to a royal prince, at least in the eyes of those who would observe you. She was a palace servant. It did not matter that you were just as low-born as she was: your lives were now destined to be very different. If Rowan was shocked by your words, she hid them well—she dropped into a curtsy of her own and hurried away, mumbling about her chores.

You found your way to the prince’s room on your own, working through the events of the day to try to make sense of them. If Rowan had not spoken out on your behalf, what would have happened? The queen suggested that she had not intended to punish you, but all the same, would you have been taken to a prison before the whole truth was discovered? What could have happened there?

You were still distracted when you pushed open the door to the prince’s quarters, and thus it took your brain a few moments to process the scene in front of you. At first, all you could see was Loki spread out on his bed with a woman sitting astride him. Your stomach twisted and your heart leapt into your throat. You were struck by the urge—the ridiculous urge—to run to the woman and throw her to the ground. Loki was yours. What was he doing?

You barely had time to examine your surprising rage before things clicked into place. The woman was Eir, and she was not straddling him, but kneeling beside him to remove his stitches. She looked up and smiled easily at you. “My lady, you are looking much better. I am glad to see it.”

Though you attempted to return her smile, you were simply too distracted by your own thoughts to respond. Instead, you went over to the window seat and pulled yourself up into it. The courtyard below was bustling, full of servants running this way or that way. Perhaps they were preparing for dinner.

Eir said something to the prince, and he chuckled.

Did you have a right to be so angry at what you thought you’d seen? The prince became incensed at the thought of any other man touching you, and he’d seemed hurt, or else insulted, when you mentioned the other women you had assumed he kept, but were things different for him? People in your village often looked with pity at the women whose husbands spent too much time with younger girls, but there were rarely any consequences for the men. Their wives learned to live with it. You didn’t think you could stand it.

So lost in your thoughts were you that you did not notice when Eir left. Nothing drew you out of them, in fact, until the prince finally came and leaned over you.

“Is my lady in another world? Come back to me, my lady.” His breath was warm in your ear, and he closed his teeth lightly around your earlobe.

“I am here, my lord,” you answered, though you were still somewhat dazed.

He climbed into the window seat beside you and drew your feet into his lap. “What did my mother wish to speak with you about?”

“She asked me about my life before the palace,” you answered. It was part of the truth. And, judging from Loki’s tolerant smile, it was enough.

“She is fascinated with life outside of the palace,” he agreed. “At the ball I feared she would draw the life story from every one of my guests.” He carefully removed your slippers and dropped them to the floor before wrapping his long fingers around the arch of your foot. He massaged you tenderly without saying anything else, but the silence between you drew out your words.

“One night in the garden,” you began hesitantly. “You told me that you had no other women. That I was enough work on my own.” You were blushing as you remembered his words and his actions—how roughly he’d treated you.

“I remember.” His voice was even lower than usual, and you wondered if he was remembering the same thing.

“But now that I am not such a challenge, will you— Do you…” The words stuck in your throat.

“Will I take other women?” He spoke the words so easily, like they were nothing. Perhaps they were, to him. You nodded, hating that you cared.

He did not answer for a long time—too long—and you wanted to stand up and go somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Perhaps this was his answer after all. But he would not let go of your feet.

“Why do you ask?” he finally said. That was certainly answer enough.

“I was just curious, my lord. Pay me no mind. It was a silly question, and none of my business.” You willed him to drop the subject. To allow you to escape embarrassment, just this once.

You should have known better.

“But it is your business, my lady. You have the right to know how I am spending my time apart from you.” The words seemed teasing, but his voice was honest enough. “Would you like me to have others, so that I might stop pressing myself to you?”

Your pride would not allow you to answer. You wanted to say no, but how could you confess that you wanted him to be yours alone? A commoner, expecting such a thing from the prince. So you answered in the only way that you felt you could: “I want you to be happy, my prince.”

He shook his head. “That is not what I asked. Darling, I could be covered with beautiful women vying for my attention and swearing to give me pleasure beyond my wildest dreams, but if it is not what my lady wants, how could I enjoy it?”

The answer seemed simple enough to you, but you held your tongue.

This was not what you expected from royalty, even from your prince. The stories that made their way through your village portrayed the royal families—every royal family—as selfish and flighty, and although you had come to know a very different side of your prince, how could he be expected to contain his desires to one dull, plain girl from nowhere? 

He was still waiting for a response, his eyes fixed intently on you. 

“I do not want that,” you said miserably. You should not have even brought this up. “It makes me feel sick to imagine you with another. I am sorry, Loki. I cannot lie.”

He shifted and slid your feet back onto the cushion of the seat. “I do not want you to lie, pet.” He sat up and moved forward to rest his forehead against yours. “If my lady wants to have her prince all to herself, then that is only fair. You are mine.” He pressed a kiss softly to your lips. “And I will be yours.”

A pleasant warmth flooded through you at his words—not the heat of desire, but something softer. Still, you were afraid to look into his eyes, in case he was resentful of your attempt to exert such control over him.

“Darling, what troubles you so? This is the way of things. My father has had but one woman for as long as he has been married to her, and he in every bit as in love with her as their first night together.” He grinned—you could hear it when he spoke again. “My brother has imagined having hundreds of women, but when he marries one, he will be faithful to her as well. The sordid stories you have heard about the royal harems are long out of date, and even if they were not, do you think my mother would allow them in her palace?”

The thought was absurd, especially after your meeting with her today. You felt yourself smiling again.

“That’s better.” The prince kissed the corner of your mouth and slid out of the seat. “No, my lady, you must help me decide on appropriate attire for dinner. I would not want to cause my mother’s ladies to swoon by arriving like this.”

By the time Loki had dressed, you were feeling more like yourself again, and slid your arm into the crook of his elbow without a second thought. You did find yourself musing on his words. Was there meaning in the fact that he had mentioned marriage, or was it mere coincidence? You decided to simply assume the latter, if only to preserve your own sanity. 

The two of you entered the hall which was, as always, already filled with a great hubbub of activity. It was not until the prince was taking his seat beside you that he noticed your marks on Thor’s face. 

“What happened to you, brother?” he asked. You studied your plate carefully. It was empty as of yet, but any ignorant observer might think you enamored of the design, which was better than the truth.

“I was in the garden when a bird swooped down and attacked me,” came the reply, Thor’s voice booming as usual above the crowd.

“Not one of Father’s ravens, surely!” Loki seemed surprised, and there was even a hint of anger in his voice. You briefly considered drinking the wine that sat before you, to dull your emotions, but decided against it. The results in the morning were worse than the discomfort of sitting through this conversation.

“No, of course not. This bird was not noble in the slightest. I think it was from the outside, scavenging and seeking to wreak havoc.” 

Your ears burned, and you felt your heart racing, but it was not from fear. It was anger. How dare he suggest such things of you, when he had been the one pawing and scratching at you?

“Birds do not attack unprovoked,” you heard yourself say. “Forgive me, my lord, but if you were attacked, that means you were mistreating that creature, which is deplorable behavior in a prince.” You did not look up at first, but when you finally did, it was just in time to catch the tail end of Thor’s angry glare.

“The girl speaks truth,” came the King’s voice, booming like Thor’s from the end of the table. “A bird’s defense it flight. It attacks only when there is no other choice. I have taught you better than that, my son.”

Defended, knowingly or not, by the King himself. You could not believe it, and fought to keep your face expressionless. As far as Loki could know, you had no vested interest in this conversation or in his father’s words. You stole a glance at the queen, who was already fixing her husband with a secret smile. She caught you looking at her, and her smile widened.

“At least the scratches are but flesh wounds,” Loki offered. “They shall fade. Perhaps the lady Eir has a salve to heal them more quickly.”

“I shall look in my supplies,” Eir agreed. “But I am afraid that I had to use up many of my medicines to heal your wounds, Loki. I will be returning home soon.” It seemed as though she had no idea what had truly happened, for which you were grateful. You were still not sure exactly what her relationship with Thor was, but she would probably not be happy with you.

“It is nothing,” Thor said. He sounded irritated—he clearly wanted his family to drop the subject. Part of you wanted to continue to goad him, but logically you knew it was much wiser to leave it alone. “I shall forget about it, bird and all, by morning.”

The rest of the table complied with the prince’s unspoken request to let the matter drop. Loki began speaking to his brother in hushed tones, and you turned to listen in on the conversation of the ladies as usual. Dinner was otherwise uneventful. Afterwards, when the other diners cleared a dance floor and many of the tables began to empty, you felt Thor walk behind you. Immediately, your shoulders tensed, but he merely reached for the hand of the lady beside you. Giggling, she accompanied him onto the floor.

“What do you think of the lone attack bird in our garden, my lady?” Loki purred into your ear. The sound alone made chills run along your spine.

“I think no one needs fear it as long as they are not the type to torment creatures who would otherwise offer them no harm.”

Loki laughed, low and soft in your ear, and pressed a kiss to the curve of your neck. You took just a moment to be grateful that Thor had covered his actions with a lie—the entire palace did not need to know every detail. But then again, you did not for a second fool yourself into thinking that Loki fully believed it. He was known for his own lies and tricks—and the thought of some mysterious bird swooping down out of the sky to attack Thor was ludicrous in and of itself.

“Dance with me?” 

You would have expected him to pull you from your seat, but he stood unmoving beside you with his hand extended. He was waiting, you realized. He was waiting for you to agree. You wanted to throw your arms around his neck and kiss him with happiness, but instead you cast an apologetic look at the remaining ladies (most of whom were beaming at the two of you) and rose, slipping your hand into his. He kissed your knuckles before leading you out to the floor.

You were no better a dancer than you’d been before—you could only mimic the prince’s movements, half a second behind him and somewhat off the beat, while his grace and ease came from within. “You move like the water, my prince,” you murmured into his ear. He did not respond, not that you had expected him to, just laughed again and kissed your temple. You moved together across the dance floor, the crowd parting for you wherever you went.

“Do you remember the night of the ball?” he asked.

How could you possibly forget it. “I was so frightened that I thought I might die on the spot, Loki. Of course I remember it.” He held you a little more tightly, which suited you just fine. 

“At first I was convinced that I’d fallen into a nightmare.” He spread his fingers wide against your back, touching you absently as he spoke. “I thought that the line of guests would be never-ending and that I’d have to watch them enter and stare at my brother for the rest of my life.”

You had not been so far off, then, with your sympathy for the prince that night. Not that there had really been any other way to interpret his body language. You smiled into his shoulder.

“And then, a flash of green in the distance. I could not stop watching her.” There was a certain reverence in the prince’s voice as he spoke directly into your ear, one that made you shiver. He sounded as though he were recounting a fairy tale—something magical. “The girls who curtsied before me no longer held any interest to me. I waited instead for that one specific girl to arrive.”

That would be you, of course. You remembered how his eyes had fixed on you, despite your insistence to Sigg that he was looking at her. How uncomfortable you’d been. Things were so different now. The prince spun you away from him, and you twirled back into his arms. That was easy: it wasn’t dancing so much as…twirling.

“When finally that girl was standing before me, she met my eyes directly, as though I was the only one sitting before her. But then she would not look at me again. I knew immediately that I needed to know more about her. So imagine my disappointment when I did not see her again for the rest of the night. I danced with my guests and entertained them, because that was the polite thing to do and my mother would have nothing else, but all night long my eyes searched for her alone. By the end of the night, I had convinced myself that I had imagined her. So finally I gave up, and went onto the balcony for some time away from the noise and clamor of the ballroom. Imagine my surprise when that very girl soon followed me outside.”

You nodded, more to yourself than to the prince. You remembered that fateful meeting well. It had seemed as though you were so close to returning home safely, and then you walked right into his arms. “I was so…” You hesitated, not sure exactly how to describe your feelings that night. Loki knew that you were unwilling at the ball, but would it be a mistake to keep reminding him?

“Beautiful,” he finished for you. “The moonlight touched you in ways that I could only long to do. You were glowing, even through that shy nervousness in your eyes.” The song ended, and he stepped just far enough away to bow to you and take your hand. “Shall we retire to the garden? It is much quieter there.”

You nodded silently, not allowing your mind to flicker to Thor or the events from that morning. It was over now. It was fine.

The garden was even more beautiful and peaceful at night than it was during the day. The big white flowers were blooming, filling the air with their fragrance. Tiny white lights seemed to float overhead—closer than stars but smaller than lanterns—and lit the path you walked along. In the distance, water lapped at the wooden dock. There were no other night sounds—no birds or insects singing in the trees, but the silence was calm, and not oppressive. You wandered a few steps away from the prince, to the plant with the white flowers.

“I love these,” you breathed, bending to smell one. The petals were silky smooth under your fingertips, and felt alive somehow beyond the aliveness of other plants.

“They are my mother’s favorite,” Loki whispered in your ear. You should have known that he would creep up behind you. His arms closed around your waist. Your heart sped up a little, thumping quickly in your chest, but this was not quite fear. “They bloom only in the dark, so the sun of their native land cannot scorch their flowers. My father discovered them on his travels and brought them back for my mother. This plant is older than I am.”

When he stopped speaking, you did nothing to fill the silence as you both stared at the flowers. You got the feeling that Loki, like you, was not really seeing them. When you thought of the night of the ball, you did not despair anymore, unlike your first few weeks in the palace. You no longer thought of it as having taken your future and freedom away from you, but just the opposite. If you had successfully avoided the prince all night long, you would have been able to go back home—but to what? To you father’s fury and a hard, unpleasant life as the wife of one of the men there. You closed your eyes and breathed in the sweet night air. Loki murmured something to you, but his words were lost against your skin.

“My lord?” 

He seemed embarrassed, and did not repeat himself. Instead, he tugged lightly on your arm to lead you back to the path and away from the flowers. “I thought…” He trailed off, perhaps trying to decide whether he actually wished to speak, but then cleared his throat and tried again. “Before. I thought that I wanted a pet. A pretty songbird in a fancy cage that I could visit and enjoy myself with, but then leave alone again when I grew bored. A pet. A diversion.”

You held your tongue, not entirely certain what the prince was talking about. He would not let go of your hand, at least, which was a good sign, even though something in his tone was making your stomach clench nervously.

“And that was why I did not protest when my parents threw the ball. I knew that the guests would all be there to impress my brother, but that did not matter so much to me. A caged creature eventually grows to love whomever feeds it, and birds sing the same no matter who is listening.” His face was in shadow when he looked at you, making it hard to decipher exactly what he was feeling. You stepped closer to him, but he backed away. 

Anxiety stabbed through you, familiar but still unpleasant. Why was he saying these things? Did he think you only felt this way about him because you were caged? That wasn’t true at all. But then again, could you truly argue that you were not caged when you had nowhere else to go if you did leave the palace? You reached out to him without thinking, but let your hand drop back down to your side before he could ignore it. “Loki. I am not a bird.” This made the second—or third, if you counted the King—time you had been called a bird, and it was ridiculous. You were a woman. A living, speaking woman standing before her prince trying to figure out what exactly he was trying to say to her.

“I know that.” He sounded frustrated, which made you feel even worse. 

“Why are you telling me this? Are—” Your voice cracked. Humiliating. “Are you sending me away?”

He groaned and turned away from you as though to gather his thoughts. When he finally turned around again, he was in front of you in just a few long strides. His fingers, long and glowing in the pale light of the garden, closed themselves around your chin to lift your face. 

“Never.” His voice was rough. “I have already sworn to you that I would never send you away. I will not go back on my word. I cannot go back on my word. That is what I am trying to say, darling.” He let out a long exhale of breath and rested his forehead against yours. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to take it all in. You were starting to shiver, but it was hard to tell whether it was because of the chill in the air or because of how strangely the prince was behaving. 

When you opened your eyes again, the prince’s were fixed on you, sharp and intense. “My lord,” you said shakily, unnerved as you were by his gaze. “You are frightening me. What is wrong? Please, tell me.”

“I do not want a pet,” he said. “I want—Damn it, woman, I want you. I want you to be mine, not because I have caged you but because you want it too.” For a moment there was a strange softness in his eyes, an unguarded despondence, but the moment you recognized it, he closed his eyes to hide it. “Is that asking too much?”

At first, you could not have formed words even if you had known what to say, you were so surprised. You had, of course, come to accept and enjoy your life in the palace, with the prince, but you would never have dreamed that he would ask for…your consent like this, so blatantly and earnestly. This man had been raised as royalty. You were sure that there was very little that was ever ‘too much to ask’ for him. Still unable to speak, all you could do was let out a short, breathy laugh of disbelief. 

He drew back, and that vulnerable look that you had seen in his eyes was immediately replaced by hurt. That was not what you had intended at all. You followed him quickly and threw your arms around his waist. “My lord,” you mumbled against his chest, holding him tightly even as he tried to put more distance between you. “My prince.” His hands gripped your shoulders and finally he wrested you away from him. You looked up at him through eyes blurred with sudden tears. “My Loki. I laughed only because I thought you would already know the answer to your question.” 

Still he held you at arm’s length. You took hold of his wrists, but just to hold them. You did not try to make him release you. As though you even could. When he did not speak, you turned to press your cheek against his hand. Finally you felt him lift his thumb to brush against your skin, and smiled.

“Loki, even if there was somewhere else I could go, there is nowhere else I would rather be. You know I am yours, as much as you are mine, remember?” You looked up, and his face was softening again, a faint light returning to his eyes. This was the Loki you knew in private. This was your Loki. “May I please embrace my lord?” you ventured shyly, ducking your head again to brush your cheek against his hand. 

“No.” His voice was still distant, and he did not let you go. Your mind raced. You had not insulted him so gravely by laughing: it was a misunderstanding. But just as you began to question him, he dropped his arms to the side and took a small step closer to you. “I wish to embrace my lady.”

And he did, pulling you in close against him. You tucked your head under his chin and held him tightly. This was where you belonged. The thought came as clearly as though someone had spoken it aloud. You were not owned, but wanted, and by someone you wanted just as badly in return. The two of you stood there in the darkness as the chill breeze blew the scent of the white flowers around you. You did not speak, because there had been enough words already tonight. Right now the only thing that either of you needed was the feel of the other’s body, and you were both happy to oblige.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Oh my dear beautiful readers, I'm sorry for the delay. No excuses. I really meant to finish and post this chapter in time for Christmas, but...then...I didn't. The muse is a fickle creature.
> 
> 2\. This chapter is significantly shorter than the chapters I've been posting before, but I hit what felt like a natural stopping point and didn't want to make you wait any longer. And, I mean, it's still just over 7k words, this chapter, and that's nothing to sneeze at, I think.
> 
> 3\. I cannot thank you enough for your continued support. You mean the world to me, truly. IN MY MIND RIGHT NOW, I AM KISSING ALL OF YOU RIGHT ON THE NOSE (UNLESS YOU'RE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THAT, IN WHICH CASE PLEASE ACCEPT THIS HANDSHAKE AND/OR RESPECTFUL NOD FROM A DISTANCE).

Gradually, even the small warmth that came from standing in the prince’s arms was not enough to overcome the chill of the night air. You ignored it as best as you could for as long as you could, but when you started to shiver, he pulled away. A small, childish part of your brain wanted to whine about the cold and pull him back to you, but you refrained.  
   
“You should have told me you were chilled,” Loki admonished, chafing his hands along your arms to warm you. “The weather is changing quickly. It will be winter soon, and here we are, standing outside like fools.” He pulled away, lifting your hand to his lips to kiss it before leading you back towards the palace. The corridors were surprisingly devoid of servants, and no one stopped you or sought the prince's attention as you walked. When the two of you were inside the doors to his quarters, you pulled his lips down to yours. He responded hungrily, hands coming to rest on your waist as he kissed you. You felt dizzy with a strange sort of happiness—what a whirlwind the day had been. A sudden and insuppressible yawn interrupted your kiss (why did you have such trouble with this?), and before you could look appropriately horrified and apologize to Loki, he was laughing and pulling you into his arms.  
   
“You are exhausted. We have plenty of time for this later, when my lady is better rested. Are you hungry? Would you like something warm sent to us? Tea?” His eyes were different: less guarded. You reached up to touch his cheek, and he pressed closer to your touch, eyes slipping closed. He was likely not as tired as you were, but his body was still healing, was it not? He needed to sleep too.  
   
“My lord is very attentive,” you murmured with a smile. “But I need nothing more than perhaps a blanket and a soft bed.”  
   
“Then you shall have that, and plenty more besides,” Loki said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Before you could stop him, he had lifted you over his shoulder and was carrying you over to the bed.  
   
“Loki, no!” You cried, though it was hard to speak for your laughter. “Your wound! What are you doing?” You would have pummeled at his back to make him let you down if you weren’t worried about causing him further injury. He carried you all the way to the bed and laid you down carefully. As soon as you felt yourself press into the mattress, you would have sprung up again, except he was already stretching out above you. Instead, you slapped at his chest. “Do you wish to reopen your wounds? The lady Eir herself said that she was running out of things to heal you.”  
   
But he just took your wrists in his and pinned them to the bed on either side if your head. His cheeks were not as pale as usual, and his eyes, though no less sharp, were somehow not as calculating. He smirked at you as you tried to wrench yourself free. “I am not so fragile, remember?” He lifted one of your hands to draw it along the skin of his ribcage, pressing firmly. You tried to twist your hand free, but his grip was solid.   
   
“Loki…” Why did he insist on doing this? You would touch him, if that was what he wanted, but why did he force you to do it so roughly and without regard for his well-being? “Okay. Okay, my lord prince. I understand. But please…” Your words were chosen on purpose to distance you from him, which was perhaps not entirely fair, but you felt as though you had no other choice. In any case, they had the intended effect: Loki’s eyes narrowed and his grip loosened. You were able to pull your hand away, moving it instead to trail it along the length of his arm. “I do not wish to hurt you,” you mumbled, trying not to meet his eyes.  
   
“You cannot,” he replied simply, ducking to kiss your forehead again. “I face down soldiers in battle and can withstand torture beyond anything you can imagine even in your darkest nightmares. Your delicate hands can only bring me pleasure. When will you learn that?”  
   
His hair was hanging down around his face as his eyes burned into yours. You reached up to tuck some of it behind his ear, not sure what you could possibly say. Finally he moved one of his hands to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin, and then rolled off of you. You felt strange, as though you had ruined something, but pushed that aside. If you had, in fact, ruined anything with your discomfort, then it had not been something you wanted in the first place.   
   
Loki slid off the edge of the bed and pulled his tunic off, tossing it to the floor. You sat up and watched, mesmerized as always, as he removed his trousers as well. With his back to you, you felt more free to allow your gaze to travel the length of his body, along the graceful muscles of his back and the way his spine curved gently until it reached his bum. You smiled faintly and thought about reaching to pinch one of the pale cheeks, just to see if he would be startled and jump away, but even after everything else you had done, it seemed…embarrassingly personal, so you kept your hands to yourself.  
   
“Do you like what you see, my lady?” Loki asked without looking back at you. Your face burned and you averted your eyes. He was not even looking at you—how could he possibly know where you were looking?  
   
“I am quite sure I have no idea what you are talking about,” you said, trying (but failing, of course) to keep your voice innocent, and perhaps a bit indignant. He laughed but still did not turn around.  
   
“Then I suppose I am imagining that little hitch in your breath every time I take my clothing off?” He sauntered to the doors to double-check that they were closed securely, and finally turned around to look at you. You were casting your memory back, trying to decide whether he was telling the truth.   
   
“You’re lying,” you ventured. Because he must be. Surely you would know if you had to catch your breath every time you saw the prince’s naked form, wouldn’t you? Loki was not angered by your accusation: instead, he broke into a smile and held his arms out wide, as though presenting himself to you. Beautiful, arrogant bastard.  
   
“There is no need to be embarrassed, love. I find it hopelessly charming.” He made his way back to the bed now, moving like a predator. Slinking. Prowling. You crossed your arms in front of yourself, but he merely pulled them away again, holding your wrists lightly in his hands. His eyes raked along your body, and though you were still fully-clothed, something in his gaze made you shiver as though you were wearing nothing. “And if I am to be honest, I feel precisely the same way about you. Even when you are terribly overdressed for bed.”  
   
He tugged gently on your arms but then released you to allow you to get off of the bed on your own. You started to lift the skirt of your dress, but the prince’s eyes were fixed too firmly on you, and you froze. “Loki…” He could not possibly expect you to be able to disrobe in front of him while he was looking at you like that, could he? “Look away.”  
   
“Why?” He sank down on the edge of the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours. “I have undressed you. I have touched you, tasted you, even. Why can I not watch you bare yourself to me now? You have done this before.” He was smirking at you, but his eyes somehow sparkled with something beyond arrogance. Still you hesitated, waiting with your hands on your hips. You could not possibly allow this to happen, not like this. He must have picked up on your resolve, because he slid from the bed to the floor, approaching you on his knees. He was holding back his laughter, you could tell, but it was good-natured. “Will you make me beg? Please, my lady. Please grant me the privilege of gazing upon your perfect body. I cannot breathe for want.”  
   
You were laughing now, and the prince’s ridiculous act cut the tension just enough to finally allow you to pull your dress up over your head, backing a few steps away from him as you did. When you looked at him again, his eyes were still fixed on you, but on your body now instead of your face. His lips were parted slightly, and his pupils wide.   
   
“You have gotten what you wanted, my prince, now stop teasing me,” you said reproachfully. As lovely as it was to see him smile so openly at you, all you wanted to do was go to sleep, not stand here and be tortured like this.   
   
He looked up at you, looking dazed. What a strange expression to see on the face of your prince, even if it did show the slightest hint of contrivance. “Every time I see you, I am torn between wanting to commission a statue of your perfection to show the rest of the kingdom how fortunate I am and wanting to lock you away safely in my quarters, sharing you with no one.”  
   
You shivered with the intensity of his words and the thought of displaying such a statue for any living soul. Of course you knew that he had still been teasing you, that he would (probably) not do either of those things, but still you dropped to your knees in front of him. It was unsettling to see him looking up at you from the floor, and what better way to change the subject? “Is it not enough that I am yours?” You asked simply.   
   
The mischief slid from his features, replaced now by appreciation. He cupped your face in both of his hands and smoothed his thumbs along your cheekbones. This time, you were all too aware of the hitch in your breath, but, in truth, you did not mind it so much. He touched you with such…affection. “It is more than enough,” he said in a low voice. “Much more.” One hand moved to press against the small of your back, pulling you closer to him. You lifted your arms to wrap them around his neck and knelt there embracing him, feeling his presence all along your body.  When you turned your head to rest it against his shoulder, his breath came warm and steady against the back of your neck until he spoke again. “Into bed,” he said decisively. “I will not have my lady catch a chill on the floor of my quarters.”  
   
He rose to his feet and helped you to yours as well, leading you to the bed. When you finally slipped under the blankets and furs, they felt soft and almost forbidden against your bare skin. In the village, you’d had had two threadbare blankets, one slightly thicker than the other, but neither particularly warm. You closed your eyes happily, and did not feel the need to open them even when the prince joined you and turned onto his side. Instead, you moved closer, fitting your body against the length of his spine.  
   
“Your skin is always so cold, Loki,” you said as you pressed your face against his shoulder blade. “How can you stand it?”  
   
Loki tried for a moment to turn around to face you, but you had no intentions of releasing him, and after a moment or two he finally bent to your will with a sigh. “In truth, I do not notice it most of the time, unless I have the warm body of my lady curled against me. Does it bother you?”  
   
“No,” you answered honestly. It made you worry that he was not feeling well, or that something was wrong with his health, but you had come to appreciate it. It was as familiar and comforting as the smell of his skin. You moved away just far enough to reach up and comb your fingers through his hair, gently working through the occasional tangle and caressing his scalp. He fell silent except for the occasional sigh, and you found yourself smiling again. Good. He had found so many ways to make you blush and squirm, but sometimes it seemed that you were still just learning his body.   
   
The slow, repetitive motions were just as relaxing for you as they were for him. His hair was silk beneath your fingers, more luxurious than the furs pressed against your naked body. The grateful sounds he made, low growls, rumbled through the two of you in a way that was intimate without being intimidating. When you touched him, you did not have to think about what he looked like when you thought he was dying, because here he was, right in front of you and breathing peacefully. Soon, your touch began to falter as you drifted to sleep, and your hand dropped to the prince’s shoulder.   
   
The dream started off innocently enough: you were standing beside the pond in the garden at dusk. As you watched, the light-fish began to approach the shore, gathering to flash their lights at you. But soon you realized they were leading you into the water: slippers, stockings, dress and all. At first, you were filled with a sense of peace: this was fine. This was normal. Until the water began to close in over your head. You were sinking to the bottom. Tendrils from unseen plants wrapped themselves around your arms and sharp rocks filled your shoes, but you had no choice but to keep moving.  
   
It was so deep that you could not tell whether the sun had finally set or if its light simply could not reach the bottom of the pond. The only light now was the occasional flash of one of the fish, always further up ahead, always just out of reach. Someone was whispering something, somehow, and the words floated around your head like the vines that threatened to immobilize you, but you could not make sense of them. Out of the corner of your eye, you could just barely make out the vague impression of a set of sharp pointed teeth, but when you turned your head to look, nothing was there. Still straining to see something—anything—in the darkness to your left, you walked right into something cold and solid. You stopped.  
   
It was a statue of a madman. His marble hair stuck out in all directions and his tongue stretched impossibly long from between his lips. As you stood there, frozen in mute fear, his arms began to move, reaching for you. Even though it was your own dream, you were not certain what would happen if he caught you, only that it would be bad. So, as expected, you ran, ducking beneath his crumbling arms and racing past him while the whispers grew louder. The path ended at a set of rusted gates, chained and padlocked shut. A light was gathering in the distance, something pale and blue and quickly growing larger than any of the fish. You pressed closer to the bars of the gates, trying to make out just what it was, but before you could, the whispers grew into a crescendo and stone arms closed around your waist.  
   
Finally you dragged yourself up to wakefulness with what you thought was a quiet moan. But Loki was already hovering above you and staring at you with concern etched into his features. “What is it?” He asked, impatient as though he had already asked you that question several times. But he was too close. The statue from the pond was all too fresh in your memory, and Loki’s proximity to you, along with the blanket that was tangled around your legs, was causing your heart to race. You pushed him away without speaking, and struggled out of the bed. The air was cold as it circled your legs, but at least you were not trapped any longer.  
   
“You were dreaming,” he explained. He moved to swing his feet over the edge of the bed, and reached for your hips. You could not move away quickly enough, and so submitted to his touch. “You kept repeating that something was coming, and then you screamed. Are you feverish?”  
   
Your face did feel wet, as though you’d been sweating. The rest of you, however felt fine—not ill, at least, though humiliatingly childish. When was the last time that you had had a nightmare so bad you woke yourself (not to mention another person) screaming? You tried to back away, out of the prince’s hands, but he would not release you. “I am sorry to have woken you, my lord.” The formality was accidental, a result of your desire to run away and hide. Stupid.  
   
“You know that is not what worries me. You are trembling again. What is it?” When he could not pull you closer to the bed, he stood up and folded you into his arms. There, cradled against him, you felt safe enough to recount the entire dream to him. In the retelling, you could not quite capture the wordless horror that you had felt, and you trailed off after describing the light, feeling immeasurably more childish. But he did not laugh or tut-tut at you. He did not even remind you that it had only been a dream, just stroked your hair and pressed his lips to the top of your head.   
   
When the last remaining shreds of fear had passed, you sniffled (your face had not been wet with sweat, you realized, but with tears) and stepped away. “I am sorry, Loki. Perhaps I was overtired. That can sometimes cause frightening visions. But it is all fine now. We can go back to sleep.”  
   
When you climbed back into the bed, which thankfully still held most of the heat from your bodies, Loki pulled you into his arms so that your head was resting on his chest. He continued to stroke your hair, sliding his fingers along your scalp and down your back as you had done for him earlier that night. “If you’d like, I could order all the statues in the kingdom destroyed, madmen or no,” he said in a low voice. You laughed despite yourself and shook your head, stroking your hand along his chest.  
   
“That will not be necessary, my lord,” you said. “I must simply avoid walking all the way to the bottom of the pond. Something tells me that, as long as I remain aware of where I place my feet, no harm shall come to me.” Thankfully, your voice was stronger than your spirit felt.  
   
“I hope you are right,” he said, and pressed another kiss to your forehead. His fingers did not stop combing through your hair, did not slow down or even pause, until he had finally coaxed you back to sleep.

 ***

In the morning, the prince was gone again. You sat up slowly, and as you wrapped one of the blankets around your shoulders to stave off the chilly morning air, you wondered if you would have to resign yourself to waking to an empty bed every morning from now on. It would not be the end of the world: there was always so much for you to do in the palace, but waking beside the prince had been...surprisingly pleasant the day before, despite the horrors of his blood.

The door creaked open, and Sindri's small but familiar face peeked in. She broke into a relieved smile when she saw that you were alone. “I am sorry for my lateness, my lady, but we've had an unexpected visitor, and everyone was called upon to prepare.” She placed the tray on the bed, and you noticed how flushed her cheeks were, and how bright her eyes. “Did you have to wait very long?”

“No,” you assured her, cradling your tea against your chest. The warmth seemed even more pleasant than it had been any other morning before: the prince had been right—winter was fast approaching. “I've only just woken up. Should I—does the rest of the family eat together in the hall in the mornings?” It was a horrifying thought: what if you had been expected to start joining the family for every meal when you started joining them for dinner, but you had been lazing about in your room every morning instead?

Your face must have given away just how worried you were, because Sindri giggled once, but then shook her head. “No, miss, only the servants and the soldiers eat there in the mornings. The royal family and their honored guests dine in their quarters. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Thank goodness.” You chewed thoughtfully for a moment or two, while the girl stood nearby, just sort of...watching. “You know, the prince was only teasing you yesterday. He does that often, unfortunately. Would you like to...are you hungry?” Instead of answering, she stole a glance around the room. “He is not here this morning.”

Finally, she relented: she approached the edge of the bed and, though she still did not sit on it with you, she did at least begin to nibble from the plates.

Your curiosity grew throughout the silence, and by the time you had finished eating, you could no longer bear it. “Who is the unexpected visitor?”

Sindri's smile grew wide. “The Princess Issa has come from her home far away to visit with the royal family. She is kin to the Queen, and used to spend many summers here with the princes when they were young. She is to become Queen in her homeland, when she marries. I have met her only twice, and I was still very young, but even now I remember her beauty and her kindness. It is a great honor to have her here.” She trailed off, and soon jolted as though she'd been run through with an electric shock. “But of course it is also an honor to serve you, my lady. I—I did not mean to imply that she was any better, or that I preferred serving her...” She wrung her hands, eyes searching your face for any sign of anger. It was all you could do to keep from laughing out loud at the poor girl. You reached to touch her hand lightly.

“Please. My ego is not yet so swollen that I need to be constantly reassured in such a manner,” you said. “I am happy that you are happy.”

She was taken aback by your words, but recovered quickly, dropping into a quick little curtsy. “Thank you, my lady. You are as kind as the princess is beautiful. Will you be needing anything else? I am to help in the kitchen when I have no other tasks, but you are my highest priority.”

It was your turn to be surprised. Who were you, exactly, to rank such a thing? You somehow stopped yourself from staring open-mouthed at her, and instead inclined your head in a bow similar to one of Eir's. “I...truly appreciate your service, Sindri. You are more helpful that I could ever have hoped. I cannot think of anything I need to further trouble you for, except perhaps...clothing.” Really, it was ridiculous that someone still had to bring you your gowns every day—surely even the Queen herself chose and donned her clothing on her own.

Sindri sank into an even deeper curtsy than before, and when she rose once again, her face was colored a soft pink. “Someone will bring that to you right away, my lady. I will leave you now. Thank you, again, for your kindness.” And with that, she lifted the empty tray off of the bed and backed quickly out of the room. You slid off of the bed, still wrapped in your blanket, and went over to the window. There was a mild flurry of activity in the courtyard below: more servants than usual skittered across the stones, but if you had not been told of the royal visitor, you would not have noticed anything out of the ordinary. 

You found yourself wondering about her—had she spent her childhood summers here? If she had, then surely she had grown up alongside the princes. The thought was intimidating somehow, even before you factored in her own royalty. Loki you had grown used to, and the Queen had shown herself to be incredibly kind and understanding. It would be an understatement to say that you were less comfortable with Thor, but your heart raced when you thought about meeting this new woman. What kind of royal would she be?

The door opened for a second time that morning, and you turned from the window to greet the newcomer. It was hard to keep yourself from groaning. She was the blonde, hard-faced servant who had come to you the night before your first meeting with the Queen. Despite Loki's admonitions that night, her face harbored no less hatred for you than it had that night.

“I am meant to help you dress, my lady,” she hissed. You would have liked to dismiss her immediately, but the strings on the back of the dress caught your eye. You could not easily tighten it yourself, and it would be foolish to succumb so easily to your own pride. So, trying not to sigh, you crossed to her and took the dress from her, juggling it and your blankets so as to expose as little of your body to her as you possibly could. When you were finished, you turned your back to her, though your every instinct cried out for you to do the opposite.

“I hope the Princess is here to help my master regain his senses,” she muttered as she yanked on your bindings. Luckily, you realized her plan in time to expand your lungs and ribcage as much as possible, to keep her from over-tightening the dress. “She is far more appropriate for him. She has noble blood. She has a kingdom. What do you have? What will the prince gain in marrying you? He was born for the throne, not to waste his life with a filthy commoner. I can't wait until he's banished you to the servant's quarters and I am allowed to serve true royalty.”

But her words meant nothing to you. You listened to them quietly, taking them in with a half-smile and trying to hold your breath. When she had finally finished pulling viciously at the knot in the strings, you let it all out in a rush and turned to face her. But you did not speak. Part of you wanted to laugh at her, and another part of you wanted to remind her that only you had prevented her from being exiled from the palace, but instead, you merely...looked at her. She was like Sindri and like Rowan: the only things that separated the two of you were chance and luck. 

Your silence must have unnerved her. Her sneer faltered once, then dropped from her face entirely. She crossed her arms in front of herself. “You can't make me like you. I'm not like the young one, whose affections are so easily bought with fancy bread and false regard.”

“Oh, I have no desire to make you like me,” you answered quickly, and your sharp tone surprised even you. Perhaps you had been spending too much time with Loki. “I am only wondering how long you would last in the palace if word of your behavior got back to my prince.” It was petty, and ridiculous, but you could not help but smile a bit at the way the words “my prince” felt on your tongue. It felt...good to stand up for yourself, though it also felt shameful to be speaking to another person this way. 

To be honest, you expected her to scoff and turn on her heel to leave. After all, she had no reason to stand before you and listen to you speak. But she...didn't. In fact, she lowered her head with a quick nod. Was that all there was to her, then? Your stomach twisted with guilt. 

“I do not wish to send you from your home,” you managed, your voice about as small as you yourself were feeling. “But neither do I wish to live uncomfortably in...in my own. Hate me as much as you want, but do it from a distance. Let me be. I have offered you no offense.”

Another quick nod, this time accompanied by a baleful stare as she turned to leave the room. You heaved another sigh, relieved that the girl had not been so easy to cow. In order to have that much control over another's behavior, you would certainly have to be of a higher station, and...you simply weren't. You smoothed your skirts and turned to pick up the heap of fabric that the girl had dumped into the chair. It felt too soft against your skin to be wool, but it was warm, and lined with soft fur the color of charcoal. You pulled it around your shoulders and held it closed at your throat. It was easily the most beautiful piece of clothing you had ever seen in your entire life—and, yes, that included the magical gowns that you had worn every day since your arrival at the palace. 

You threw the hood up around your head and made you way out into the garden. Surely no one would fault you for wishing to test the cloak's warmth against the morning air? Besides, the prince was nowhere to be found and no one had asked for your help in preparing anything, so what was the harm in it?

The sun was coming out, and, truthfully, it was making the air just a little too warm for the cloak. As you walked, you found yourself growing warm, but something prevented you from taking it off. You allowed yourself the silly vanity—after all, so much of your time had been spent in itchy, uncomfortable clothing that surely it was not such a sin to appreciate something so lovely. Your feet brought you to the pond, as it seemed they always would, but this morning it was not as silent and tranquil as it normally was. Splashing and raucous laughter filled the air, growing louder the closer you got to the water. When it finally came into your sight, you could make out three figures roughhousing in the pond. Even at this distance, two of them were unmistakable, which made it fairly easy to guess the identity of the third. You hesitated for a moment before continuing to the edge of the water.

For a long time, you were able to observe them unnoticed. Thor was beaming like the sun, of course, diving under the water only to surface near one of the other two with an oversized spray of water. Loki was more reserved, cutting gracefully through the water until one of Thor's especially-large waves crashed over his pale chest, at which point he sprang into action,wrestling his brother back underneath the water. The third, who was without a doubt the princess Issa, paid little attention to their antics as she floated on her back in the water. The water rippled out around her, attracting your gaze down her body—until, of course, you should have guessed, you realized that she was nude. Her breasts, stomach, knees, toes, peeked elegantly from the water and you could not avert your eyes quickly enough. 

You were just deciding whether you should try to slip away when you heard someone splashing through the water towards you. You knew without looking that it was Loki, but your eyes sought his anyway.

“They brought you your cloak,” he observed, and his face held a...lightness that seemed unfamiliar outside of the privacy of his quarters. He reached out to brush his fingers against it, but pulled them away before he got it wet. “Are you cold?”

“No. I was just...testing it.” It sounded silly to speak it aloud, but he did not laugh at you. “In any case, I should be asking you if you are cold. The pond must be near to freezing by now.” Like the princess (and, you realized uncomfortably, probably Thor), Loki was completely nude. Droplets of water crept down his body, catching the sunlight and glowing like gemstones.

“It is!” he answered with a grin, and in a movement too quick for you to catch, he ducked closer to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “It's great fun, my lady. You should join us!” He whisked you to the edge of the water, and you shrieked much too loudly and with much too much real fear in your voice, as the water came up to cover his ankles. But of course he did not drop you or push you in—in fact, he did not even allow your skirts to skim the surface of the water.

“I'd really rather not,” you gasped. Swimming lessons or no, it was hard to unlearn old habits, and you had spent so much of your life avoiding water that even now, grasped firmly in Loki's arms, your heart was racing. “Please, Loki...”

By now you had attracted the attention of the other two swimmers. You did not look at Thor, but the princess was watching you with an unreadable expression on her face. You were struck, then, by how very much she resembled the golden prince, down to the sandy blonde hair that clung to her damp shoulders. Sindri had been right about the princess's beauty, but at this distance there was no sign in her face of her kindness.

“Very well,” Loki sighed, and took a few steps backwards to lower you onto dry land. “Then I shall join you instead.”

Well, that was hardly any better, was it? “Please, you do not need to do such a thing. You were enjoying yourself with your brother and...your guest. I can entertain myself.”

“All the more reason for me to join you,” he said with a glint in his eyes. “I would quite like to see you entertain yourself.” His voice was low and dark, and though you were not entirely certain what it was he was hinting at, you felt yourself blushing. He stepped away before you could find the words to admonish him, ducking to retrieve his clothing from the ground. 

By the time the prince had finished dressing, the other two had come out of the water to join you. You made the mistake of glancing in their direction—all that smooth golden skin, glistening with water, and of course they were both perfectly comfortable that way, standing nude in the middle of the garden. Hastily, you returned your eyes to Loki's face. He noticed your discomfort, of course, but, thankfully, took your hands in his rather than bringing it to anyone else's attention. 

“My lady, I would like to introduce you to the fair Princess Issa. She is a dear friend, and has come for a visit. Princess, this is—” 

“I know who she is.” The sharpness in her voice surprised you, and you looked at her quickly. She smiled as though to soften her words. “Loki, you think word of your lady has not already spread throughout the lands?” She offered no curtsy, no incline of her head, and though that fact did not bother you in the slightest (a princess bowing to a commoner?), it did...stand out. You managed a smile of your own and curtsied—admittedly, perhaps not as deeply as etiquette should have required.

“I have heard of you as well, Your Grace,” you said. “My girl—” No, that sounded strange. “There is a girl in the palace, and she speaks very highly of you. It appears that everyone is excited for the Princess Issa's visit.”

“Naturally,” Thor beamed, clasping Issa on the shoulder. He was in even less of a hurry to get dressed than your prince had been, and you had to focus carefully on his face. Looking at the rest of him made unpleasant shivers travel up your spine. “It is a great honor to have a lady of such high esteem as Issa's in our palace. Of course the servants are excited to serve her.” 

He kept his eyes trained on the princess, but his words seemed to be a jab at you. Perhaps you were being overly sensitive. Even if he was pointing out the difference between your station and hers, he was only speaking the truth, after all. She rewarded Thor with a smile, distracted though she was with re-dressing. 

Loki had yet to let go of your hands, and drew them up to his mouth now, to press kisses to your knuckles. It was a welcome distraction, and you could not help but smile at him. “What would my lady like to do today?” he asked in a low voice. You shrugged. 

“I have not been to the library in a while,” you said thoughtfully. “It might be nice to spend the afternoon there.”

“Reading with my lady before a roaring fire,” Loki said with a half-smile. “It sounds perfect.”

He was right, of course: you rather liked the thought of spending the day sitting across from each other in those over-large chairs, together but separated by the worlds in your respective books. But you could not take him away from his brother and his guest. You shook your head quickly and squeezed his hands. “Please, Loki, you do not need to come with me. I'm sure you have a lot of catching-up to do with the princess. Don't let me take you away from that.” There was something in the princess's face that made you uncomfortable, and you were fairly certain that it was not just her beauty.

Loki just chuckled and pressed your hands to his chest. “Issa will be perfectly fine without me.” He lowered his voice and leaned in closer to you. “To tell the truth, she's always preferred the company of my brother, anyway.” You both glanced over at the other two. Thor was finally starting to re-dress, and Issa was working her long blonde hair into a thick braid. They were both laughing at something. You wondered for a moment if those idyllic summers that the princess had spent here in her childhood had been spent exclusively with Thor, shunning the smaller, darker prince. 

“Very well,” you conceded, and drew your bottom lip between your teeth. The prince's eyes followed the small movement, making you aware of it. If your cheeks suddenly grew warm, it was, of course, merely a combination of the morning sunlight and your too-heavy cloak. “That would be lovely, my lord.”

***

When you reached the library, you hesitated by one of the bookshelves for a moment, looking over at the prince and feeling more awkward than you would have liked to feel in a library, of all places. He had paused in the doorway, looking around the expansive room, at the shelves that went all the way up the walls, at the tapestries and artwork hanging in those few places with no shelves at all. The fire was low, as though someone had only just finished stoking it, but there was something in its crackle and roar that promised to grow, and soon.

Loki caught you staring, and a pleased smile crept across his face. “Well, you mustn't let me stop you, darling. Pick something out. Make yourself comfortable.”

Maybe it was the fact that you were there without Rowan, or maybe it was the fact that Loki had yet to approach the books to pick something out for himself, but obeying that very command proved nigh-impossible. You chose a book from the nearest shelf and curled yourself up in one of the large chairs before the fire, but still Loki stood alone by the door. Finally, you looked up at him.

“My lord, really. If you'd like to join your brother and the princess, I will be perfectly comfortable here on my own. I don't want to keep you from them. You haven't seen her in ages, I'll bet, but you see me every day. I do not mind.” And in truth, you didn't. It would be nice, of course, to spend the afternoon reading together in silence, but not if the prince desired to be somewhere else. You would manage.

But he looked taken aback, as though the thought had not even occurred to him, and took a few steps closer to your chair and the fire. “How could I ever give up the pleasure of your company, my lady, especially in return for an afternoon spent with two others who frequently forget to acknowledge my existence?”

His tone was light, but it did not distract you from the troubling quality of the words themselves. When you looked up at him, for just a moment he looked so very small standing there, arms folded in front of himself, watching you. It seemed as though, for just that moment, he had forgotten to maintain that glamour of a cold uncaring man. There must have been too much pity in your expression, because he turned away from you then, under the guise of choosing a book from the shelves behind him. You watched, utterly unable to tear your eyes away from him, and you did not miss (but would never mention) the way his fingers trembled just slightly as he reached for a book.

Still without speaking, he made his way over to the fire. Instead of taking the seat across from you, he dropped to the floor in front of your chair, right between where your legs would be if you hadn't crossed them beneath yourself on the cushion. He tilted his head backwards to offer you a tiny smile, and you could not help but reach out to caress his forehead. Nothing more was said, and soon that peaceful silence, heavy and comforting like the blankets on your bed, fell once again.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry, lovelies: we've got another short one here, but I've been having so much trouble deciding where to end this chapter and then I ended up having to go waaaay back and end it here where I ended it, but that means I'm already several pages into the next chapter, so there's that. Also it was basically a choice between ending it where I ended it or ending it with a cliffhanger, and I've already promised no more cliffhangers for a little while, so, I mean...I couldn't go back on that promise, right?
> 
> Huge soppy ridiculous amounts of thanks to the beautiful and talented Momo-slash-lokipussy-slash-wheatleyofficial-slash-perfect, patient, angel for helping me out so much and listening to my stupid questions and giving me really good advice. 
> 
> Also I should have mentioned this in the last chapter but if you like glorious perfect smut, you should definitely check out the story that the aforementioned perfect, patient, angelic Momo wrote for this story/universe: http://lokipussy.tumblr.com/post/68007773165 because it is sexy and wonderful and she spent so much time on it and just really, people, go read it because it's worth it.

You could not pinpoint exactly when it had started. In fact, you had not even been aware of the fact that you were doing it until your prince sighed softly and tilted his head back against your legs once again. At some point during your reading, you had reached out and begun combing your fingers through his hair. Now, with his head tilted back the way it was, you had to take a moment to pull his hair free and spread it out against the skirts of your dress, but you continued to stroke it. It was still damp from the pond, but the fire was drying it quickly. The book lay forgotten beside you as you worked through the knots first, so that they would not become even more difficult when they were dry. When the prince's hair was silken once again, you let your eyes close and continued to pull your fingers through it. From time to time, you focused your attentions on the skin of his scalp, scratching softly or massaging—or both.

The prince's sighs, open and appreciative, encouraged you to keep going. Like the night before, you were filled with a strange pride that you'd found something that could make him feel so peaceful. If you cast your memory back a very long way, into memories that were more haze and shadow than actual memory, you could only just remember someone doing this for you. It would be your mother, of course: the thought of your brother or father touching you with such tenderness was laughable.

“There is magic in your touch, my love.” The prince's voice sounded as though it came from somewhere far away, and briefly you wondered if he had been about to fall asleep. 

“Good magic, I hope.” It was a silly response, but you could think of none other, and you did not want to leave his remark unacknowledged. 

“As do I.” He tilted his head backwards into your lap and dragged his eyes open to meet yours. “Perhaps it is a good thing after all, that I will never rule this land. You have me so bewitched that that the kingdom may as well belong to you.” He grinned a lazy grin, but you shook your head softly.

“I know nothing of running a kingdom,” you dismissed easily, and leaned forward to press your forehead to his. “What use would I have for the throne? My prince is all that I need.” 

Loki was silent for a long time—long enough to make you worry that you had offended him somehow. And perhaps you had. He had grown up in Thor's shadow, knowing his whole life that he would never be king. Of course the throne would be important to him. You opened your eyes, searching for the words to correct your mistake, but the intensity with which he was already staring at you froze your tongue. Before you could regain your senses, he had taken hold of your arm and tugged you down out of the chair, onto the rug beneath you.

“Loki!” As before, at the pond, your voice held too much fright, but of course he did not let you hit the floor unprotected. He slid a hand beneath your neck and guided your lips up to his, pulling you close so that you were practically in his lap as he kissed you. There was an electricity in his kiss that stole your every conscious thought from you. 

Even when he pulled back, he did not go far. You could feel the heat from his breath on your lips. He smiled, and it was the wicked, mischievous smile you had learned to love as well as fear. Still without speaking, he let his hand creep down along your body, skimming your belly and your sides until it had made its way beneath your skirts. You flinched a bit and quickly looked towards the door, but he closed his mouth over yours before you could protest.

“No one is watching,” he assured you. “And even if they were, who would bother you while you are with me?” His fingers crept higher, brushed against you. You flinched again, but this time it was from the touch, and not from your fear. 

“I suppose I cannot deny my lord,” you said with half a smile. 

“Oh, you certainly could.” Loki kissed you again, and you felt as though you could disappear into his kiss. His fingers found what they were seeking, brushing against you and sending little thrills of pleasure throughout your body. “But why would you?”

Your eyes fluttered closed, and your back arched nearly of its own accord. You needed to be closer, to feel him touch you deeper, harder. He was teasing you right now, barely even tickling you, and it was driving you mad. He was going to make you beg, wasn't he? Leave it to that smug—

His fingers delved, twisted, left you crying out and breathless. Without thinking, you groped through the air until you found his shoulder, gripping tightly. If you didn't, you would surely spiral away, perhaps melting into the flames and letting them consume your body because what other choice did you have? You struggled to breathe, but even through the attempts, his name fell from your lips, pleading despite what few scraps of dignity and pride you still had left. Begging him to let you burn.

Something told you to open your eyes, and though it was an effort to pull yourself back from that edge, you did. Loki was not looking at you, and that would not have been so much of a problem—what did you care whether he looked at you while your eyes were clenched shut—but he _was_ looking at something: his eyes were fixed and unblinking, and an open smirk curled his lips. You followed his gaze, and your heart stopped.

Someone was standing in the doorway, arms crossed. As your eyes adjusted to the light, it became more and more clear who that someone was, but at the same time, you felt that you should have realized who it was right away. It was the Princess Issa standing there, watching as Loki claimed your body beneath your skirts. Your stomach churned.

You returned your attention to the prince, pushing hard against his chest and wriggling away from him, backwards and into a sitting position. He looked startled. “Did I hurt you?”

Was this another joke? You gaped at him. You head was so full of words and anger now that you were not sure where to start. What a difference from so few moments ago. 

“When you're finished here—” The princess's tone was icy, and she did not take her eyes off of Loki. “Your brother and I would like to invite you to go riding. But we're not going to wait forever.” You had to look away from the two of them; otherwise, you would be sick. Loki had the nerve to surprised when you stood up and curled yourself into another chair in front of the fire, further away from him.

“Would you like to join us?” He asked you. From the corner of your eye, you could see that he was still kneeling there on the floor. Had he no shame, then?

“No thank you,” you answered, trying not to let yourself sound too angry. For reasons unknown, you wanted to hide as much of your discomfort from the princess as you possibly could. “I do not know how to ride.”

“You've ridden before,” he said. “You can ride with me, if you'd like.”

“I would not want to slow you down or get in the way. Leave me here.” Your eyes stung, but you wrote it off as being the result of staring into the fire. It was the only explanation.

Loki started to protest, but the princess cut him off. “Loki. If the girl does not want to join us, then do not force her. It would just make everyone miserable. Thor is retrieving the horses.”

The prince let the matter drop. You heard him rise and stride over to your chair, but you still refused to look at him. You fought the shudder that threatened to wrack your body. He knew you would be uncomfortable if you knew she was there. He knew you did not like the thought of someone seeing you like...like _that_. 

He leaned over as though to kiss you, but you turned your head to the side to escape his lips. “My lady...” His voice was reproachful. How could he possibly not see the utter...wrongness of what he'd done? When you did not acknowledge him, he closed his fingers around your chin, a bit more forcefully than was truly necessary, and forced you to look at him. Despite the roughness of his touch, his face was free of anger. “I will see you at dinner then, my lady.” He hovered for a moment, perhaps waiting for a kiss, but you did not move to give it to him, and finally he straightened on his own. “Be well.”

You continued to stare at the flames in the fireplace, long after he had released you and long after you heard his footsteps leading out of the library. Your mind reeled, working in circles to try to process everything that had happened, but the thought of Loki's face kept throwing you right back to the start. He had been touching you, exploring your body in a way that you had become rather fond of, all the while holding the princess's gaze with that...filthy smirk on his face. Had he been imagining her body instead of yours? Hers was certainly nicer by far: you knew that perfectly well thanks to your first meeting by the pond. And she was royal. If he married her, he would have a throne and a kingdom and servants who weren't—you lips twisted into a wry smile as you remembered the girl with the hard face—ashamed to serve them.

You didn't like where any of these thoughts were going, and you didn't like the sick twisting sensation they were calling up in the pit of your stomach. It was better to ignore them. The princess could not stay at the palace forever, and when she was gone, things would surely go back to normal. You pulled your legs up into the chair and hugged them tightly, hoping to calm your stomach. 

“Bastard,” you mumbled to yourself, unable to tear your eyes away from the fire even as they began to water.

“I'm sorry, did you speak?”

The voice came from somewhere behind you, in the shelves of books. You spun around to peer over the back of the chair, heart thudding wildly in your chest. Who was that, and how long had they been there? Had there been an even bigger audience for Loki's show than you had though? You heard a rustling, as of skirts, and a familiar shape peeked out from behind one of the shelves. Eir. 

“Forgive me. I...did not know anyone else was in here.” You looked away. Eir's presence was a relief only because she had already seen you naked in the bath and because she could not possibly mean you any harm. 

“I haven't been here long.” She stepped out into the aisle and dropped a stack of books onto one of the tables. “I just wished to peruse the royal library to see if there were any new books on healing. I didn't know you were in here either, to be honest.” She was still for a moment, studying you carefully, and then drew in a deep breath and moved to sit in the chair opposite you. “My lady, is something bothering you?”

You returned your attention to the fire, hastily wiping your eyes in case they were watering badly enough to be mistaken for tears. “No.” Because you were damned if you were going to try to put this afternoon (or that smirk) into words. From the corner of your eye, you could see her sit back in her chair. She probably nodded, maybe even rolled her eyes at your horrendous lie, but she was not leaving. Honestly, you were not certain that you really wanted her to leave.

She tried another tactic: “Where is the prince?”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, or at least to think about it. “He went riding with his brother and the princess.”

Eir's silence was long, long enough that you finally turned your head to look at her. She was looking at you thoughtfully. When she caught you looking, she offered a smile. “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” You were not sure that you wanted to answer any of her questions, but she was well within her rights to ask them. Who were you to deny her that?

“What are your thoughts on our fair Princess Issa?” She smiled faintly, as though saying the words aloud amused her.

There was no correct answer to this, you knew, not without somehow knowing Eir's opinion of the woman. And even then, if you said the wrong thing, it might spread and get you in trouble. You cast about for an answer that might satisfy her. 

“I...have not spent much time with the princess, but I have heard good things about her from the servants who know her. And she is very beautiful.” The words came out more forlornly than you'd intended, and you cringed. Eir would certainly not miss that. “Why?”

There was still more silence from Eir. That was fine. You could both stare into the fire until dinner, for all you cared, especially if your only other option was to talk about Issa. Briefly, you wondered where the three of them had ridden off to, if it was that place that Loki had taken you the first time he'd touched you. You had never assumed yourself to have been Loki's first conquest, but now that you were thinking about other women stretched out and begging on those blankets, your stomach was beginning to twist again. This was not jealousy, you told yourself. Perhaps you were coming down with some kind of illness.

“She brings out the worst in him, you know.” Eir's voice, low and warm in the silence, startled you. You looked over, hoping to draw more information from her face, and she met your eyes. “Issa, and Loki. I try to make it a point not to let my visits coincide with hers because he always becomes intolerable in her presence.”

You had not noticed any changes in your prince this morning by the pond, but this afternoon...that had certainly been...terrible. “What do you mean?”

“She and Thor have always been close. When she spent her summers here, the two of them were inseparable. But they often forgot about your prince, running out of the palace and leaving him trailing behind. He was always showing off for her, hoping to impressing her. I was hoping that, with your presence here in the palace, he would finally be immune to the princess's influence, but it would appear that the oldest habits are hardest to break.”

She rose and gathered her stack of books from the table. She'd nearly reached the exit when you finally summoned the question that would not leave you alone: “Does he love her?”

A part of you hoped that your voice had been too low, or the distance too great, and that Eir had simply not heard you. You should not have asked it. Did you really want to hear the answer? But soon enough you heard a low laugh from the doorway.

“He loves attention. He craves it. Especially from those who have denied it for so long.” But you could not help noticing that she had not actually answered your question. You wanted to look at her, study her face to determine how truthful she was being, but you kept your eyes fixed on the fire. 

“Since your arrival, I have seen changes in that boy that I never thought were possible. It is unfortunate that the princess has managed to undo all of those changes, but you must be patient, my lady. You must have faith that he will return to you. You are better for each other than you know.” She left, and although the silence returned, your mind continued to race. You found yourself trying to come up with the perfect rebuttal, a way to deny to her or to yourself that you even cared about that in the first place. 

***

By the time Rowan came to the library, you had retrieved your book and fallen into a kind of oblivion, losing yourself in the unfamiliar people and lands of the story. You must not have heard her knock at first, because by the time you looked up and saw her, standing beside your chair, she was beginning to look concerned. 

“My lady, forgive me for disturbing you, but I did not see you at dinner, so...”

Had that much time really passed? You closed your book quickly and looked around for a clock of some kind. There was none, though even if there had been, you had clearly been too engrossed in the book to have heard its chimes. “Oh no,” you said as you rose to your feet. “Have I missed it? Have I offended anyone?” It was more likely that no one (apart from the girl standing next to you) had even missed your presence, but what if someone _had_ , and interpreted your absence as a snub?

“You haven't missed much,” Rowan assured you. “It's only just started. Just...usually you arrive with the prince, and when he came without you, I was afraid...” 

“Afraid of what?” You pressed her gently, looking to satisfy your curiosity without frightening her. She looked sheepish, which told you that this was not merely a courtesy on her part. 

“I just wanted to make sure that you were okay,” she finally answered with a tiny shrug. Finally it dawned on you that Sindri was not the only servant who was unnerved by the prince. Had Rowan really feared for your safety? The morning after you'd first stood up for her, she'd seemed worried that the prince had blackened your eye. Oh, Loki. He took too much pride in his reputation as a monster. You reached for Rowan's hand, finding it chilled compared to yours, and squeezed it gently.

“I am honored by your concern,” you said, closing your other hand around hers in hopes of warming her. “But truly, the prince is not so dreadful.” And it was true. He was hardly perfect, but at the very least, he was not as much of a threat to you as these dear women seemed to think he was.

“Shall I escort you to dinner, then?” Rowan asked softly, keeping her eyes averted. Were you making her uncomfortable? Should you release her hand? 

“That would be greatly appreciated.” You did let go of the girl, just in case, but curtsied slightly to her as you did. She gave you a small smile and led you to dinner, though you were pleased to note that you knew the way yourself.

Rowan stepped away just as you entered the hall, and you watched her disappear effortlessly into the crowd of people. It seemed there were many more than there had been in past nights: perhaps they were all there to celebrate the princess's visit. In any case, you made your way to the table where the royal family sat, but when you got there, you stopped short, momentarily taken off guard. Issa was in your seat.

It was silly: no one had ever actually assigned you a seat, but by now it had become accepted that your place was beside Loki. And yet there she was, sipping daintily from a silver goblet and trying not to laugh at whatever story Thor was telling. Loki was paying rapt attention to his brother (as was most of the rest of the table, for that matter), but as you watched, Issa placed her goblet back on the table and touched his wrist, speaking to him. Her words were lost in the clamor of the crowd around you, but they caused a wide and shining smile to break out across his face. You should have been pleased to see the prince so happy, but instead it stung you. You could make him laugh, could make him chuckle, could make him smirk, and you had even seen that small private smile from time to time, but never like that. 

“My lady!” Thankfully, one of the Queen's ladies finally took notice of you. She raised a fuss, orchestrating a series of seating changes that ultimately resulted in making room for you. You would not raise your eyes through any of it to see whether it had attracted Loki's attentions, because there was a small sinking part of you that suspected it had not and you did not wish to know for certain.

You threw yourself into conversation with the women that evening, listening to every story, even the boring ones you had already heard three or four times. You made it a point to eat normally, though you had very little appetite, and did not touch your own goblet. One terrible morning was enough to sour you on wine for the rest of your life. From time to time, the elegant laugh of the princess made its way to your ears, but you very carefully avoided looking over at her.

This was ridiculous. It was ridiculous and foolish to be so jealous of the princes' childhood companion. Of course they were close, and of course you could not be included in that closeness. They had grown up together here in the palace while you had been roaming the streets of your village with your own childhood friends. It was the natural way of things, you scolded yourself, and tried to push the feelings aside.

As people finished eating, they began making their way onto that same makeshift dance floor as always. Because of the increased number of guests in the room tonight, many more of the ladies around wound up swept away to the dance floor. As their numbers dwindled, it became even harder to keep from looking at the royal three—at least without being too obvious. You glanced their way once by accident when the king spoke, and from the corner of your eye in that moment, it seemed as though Loki might have been looking at you. By the time you'd gathered the courage to look directly at him, however, Issa had dragged him out of his seat and, laughing, steered him into the throng of dancers.

Issa was a beautiful dancer, just as graceful and effortless as the prince himself. You even found yourself smiling faintly as you watched them glide among the others on the floor. They both wore appropriately neutral expressions: neither seemed to be thinking particularly hard about the next step or who was around them. Dancing just...came naturally to them, and they knew that the crowds would part in deference to their royalty. 

Someone tapped you lightly on the shoulder, and then an all-too-familiar voice boomed over the music. “Dance with me.” It was not a request, but a command. Without the wine buzzing through your bloodstream it was difficult to make yourself obey. He held out his hand, raising his eyebrows slightly, and one of the ladies next to you nudged you quickly with her elbow. 

Fine. You stood and followed the prince stiffly out to the crowd of dancers. He folded you into his arms, and you did not need a looking glass to know that your face was not appropriately neutral. You could feel your eyebrows furrowing together with concentration as you tried to keep up with the prince's large steps, and it was a constant effort to keep your nose from wrinkling at his touch. You were just astoundingly childish today, you thought with disgust. Your behavior would be unbecoming of a servant, let alone a girl who was supposedly meant to marry a prince.

“How wonderful to see the two people I care about most finally beginning to warm to each other.” Thor had to speak loudly to be heard over the music and the crowd, and his voice hurt your ears but judging by the reactions of those around you, you were somehow the only one hearing him. “When we were children, Issa had very little interest in my younger brother.” He spun you away from him, and your eyes fell on the two for just a moment before he tugged you back. “But now it seems that they are becoming friends.”

It was hard to speak. Only yesterday, you had never heard of the woman, but now, this evening, she was filling every corner of the palace. There was no room left for you. But, then again, how much had there truly been in the first place? You summoned the nerve to speak. Thor could do nothing to you in this crowd, after all.

“I would have thought that you would be the one to marry her,” you said. “You are both so beautiful, and wield such power.” You had tried fighting him once before, and it had gotten you nowhere. Perhaps flattery would appease him enough to make him leave you alone.

Thor laughed and increased the speed of his steps. “Don't be ridiculous. We are both first in line for the thrones, and our kingdoms are worlds apart. Where would we live? Where would we rule? Shall we split our time between our homelands, riding between the two whenever we are needed?” He lowered his lips to your ear, and you flinched, but he merely spoke in a whisper. “It would make much more sense for her to marry my brother. He wants a throne, and she can offer him one. Don't you agree that they suit each other?” He spun you away from him again.

He was not wrong. Issa's golden hair and shining complexion offered the perfect contrast for Loki's eerie pallor. What one lacked, the other supplied. Issa's royal expression cracked for a moment, and as you looked on, she grinned up at the prince. Gone was the icy demeanor that she had worn in the library. Thor pulled you back again, and this time his hand settled lower on your back.

“Perhaps you are to be a wild crow, after all, and not a royal raven.” He was gloating, but still, he was not necessarily wrong. “Of course, he might bring you along to serve him in his new home.” He paused long enough to let the thought sink in, and then went on. “Or I could see to it that he leaves you here with me. I could use a new chambermaid.” Beneath that innocent lightness, his voice was dangerous. Neither of you had forgotten his attempts on you in the garden. There was no way to free yourself from this situation, not without causing a scene in the middle of hundreds of royal guests enjoying themselves. His lips were still at your ear. “And my father does not care so much for crows.”

His breath was hot against your skin, but instead of disgust, it triggered in you some previously-dormant rage. It didn't matter that you were a commoner and he was the crown prince: what right did he have to treat you like this?

You drew yourself up to your full height (which was still laughable compared to the man who held you), and glared up at him. “The last man who spoke to me the way you are speaking to me now was thrown into a cell,” you said. Your voice was shaky at first, but with each word you spoke, your courage grew. “Regardless of what my future holds, I am not yet your chattel, and I will not stand here and take your abuse.” The strength behind your words surprised your, but you would not—could not—back down. “Release me, please, and leave me be, because I have had a bad enough day without your help.”

Thor looked at the dancers that surrounded you, some of whom were beginning to turn their heads and look. You were fairly certain that you were not speaking loudly enough to be heard, but perhaps the fact that you had stopped dancing had attracted their attention. Finally, with a smile much too bright for the situation, Thor released you and gave an exaggerated bow.

“I shall count the days until my brother's wedding,” he murmured, but it did not matter to you: you were free and you had not made a scene and the only thing that did matter was getting out of there. 

You walked as quickly as you could without looking out of place, resisting the urge to break into a run until you were in the corridors. How was it that Thor could always send you running? At least you weren't crying this time. 

You did not stop moving until you were standing in front of a set of large, ornate doors. The prince's room. Loki's room. You hesitated, your hands hovering above the doorknobs. Just on the other side of these doors was a bed, covered with rich luxurious furs and quilts and the familiar, comforting smell of the prince. By now you were certainly safe in thinking of this room as yours. 

And yet you could not possibly go inside.

You let your hands drop to your sides and backed away from the doors. If you went into that room and let yourself fall asleep in that bed, there were only two possible outcomes. The first: Loki would come back to the room alone and climb in beside you, still remembering the way the princess had felt in his arms or your disgust in the library. How could you face him, either tonight or in the morning, knowing what was coming? 

The second option was even more humiliating: what if the prince did not come back to the room alone?

Casting a quick look at the empty corridors that surrounded you, you allowed yourself one quiet sob, muffled with the bottom of your skirt, before hurrying away to the room that had first been yours. It did not occur to you, until you had thrown open the door, to worry about whether it had been given away to another. The princess would be in a much grander room, but perhaps this one had been given to one of the people who arrived with her? 

But nothing in the room was different, down to the book that still rested in your window seat. Because certainly this was still your room, then, if it was still empty even with a palace full of guests. You took a moment to send your silent thanks to the Queen (who was likely still enjoying herself with her husband and her children and her royal subjects) for having saved it for you and let the door close securely behind you.

There were no tears, not as you stepped out of your slippers and wrenched your stockings off of your legs, and not as you unlaced your gown and let it fall abandoned to the floor. You hardened yourself, as you had done so many times before, and tried not to think of the fireplace in the prince's room as you slipped beneath the frigid covers and willed yourself to sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, this chapter has been a long time coming, sweet loves, and by now you're all sick to death of excuses, so...eh. Things are somewhat better now, so here I am. I cannot be more grateful for your patience, those of you who are still around. I will kiss all of you ALL OVER YOUR FACES. Or shake your hand if kissing makes you uncomfortable.
> 
> A bit of smut in this one, believe it or not, so I hope that's not a problem.
> 
> Also some thinly-veiled (or perhaps not-really-veiled-at-all) rape threats towards the beginning because Loki's got a temper and a really really bad sense of what's appropriate and what's evil, so if you need to take a second to brace yourself for that, be aware.
> 
> I hope you like this one. Personally, I waver back and forth between feeling really proud of this chapter and wanting to bury it deep in a hole and never look at it again. I feel like my writing mojo's gone to shit most of the time lately, but this story hasn't been told yet and I am much too stubborn to quit so...we'll see.

At first, you were not sure what had woken you. The light coming in through the window was still the watery light of the moon, and there were no servants standing beside the bed. You entertained the briefest thought that you were not actually awake, but in the beginnings of a nightmare, until you heard the voice coming from the doorway:

“Darling, why are you in here?”

Your first instinct was to pull the blankets up over your head and wait for him to go away. Your second (and much saner) instinct was to pretend you were still asleep. You should have known that even that would not work. The door closed again, but the prince's footsteps stalked closer to the bed, until you felt him kneel on the mattress beside you.

“I know you're awake, love. I heard your breathing change.”

Of course.

You did your best to give no indication that you had heard him, and after a few long moments, he sighed and rocked backwards into a sitting position. “There's no use in trying to punish me for something if I've no idea what I've done,” he said. “And you will have to speak to me eventually, so why not now? Tell me what I've done to hurt you, and then you can enjoy your righteous indignation.”

You would have liked nothing more than to ignore him until he finally gave up and went back to his own room, but the tone of his voice irritated you. Anyway, he was much too stubborn to give up so easily. So you opened your eyes to fix him with a steady glare in the dim light. “Do you truly see nothing wrong with what you did to me in the library?”

His face was blank for several moments too long, but finally he seemed to realize what you were talking about. Or possibly not. His lips curled into a suggestive smile, which was far from the penitent expression you might have hoped for. “Are you frustrated because I left you wanting?” he asked, his hand sneaking beneath your blankets to rest on your thigh. “If that is all, I would be more than happy to right that grievous wrong many, many times over.”

The sound that escaped your lips as you fought your way out of bed was half-growl, half-wail. “This is not a game, Loki,” you said desperately.. “You laid me open to a perfect stranger, without my consent or even my knowledge.”

“She saw nothing—you were covered from head to...knees.” How could he sit there on _your_ bed in _your_ room, and look at you as though you were crazy?

“She saw enough!”

“And so what if she did? So what if I had torn your gown from your body and shown her every inch of your skin?” His voice was steady, which was all the more infuriating, as it seemed you could not keep yourself from shivering. “I told you, no harm will come to you while you are with me, not even if I bend you over and take you in front of my father's entire army. Do you not trust me?”

“I did trust you! There, in the library. And you repaid that trust by inviting your princess to watch...that.” What had started out with such strength ended weakly: you could not summon the words quickly enough to give them any impact.

“Forgive me,” Loki said, though his voice held no trace of remorse. “Forgive me for wanting to share my lady’s beauty with the world.” 

Eir's words echoed in his, her gentle explanation from the library. So he _had_ been showing you off. Using you to win the attention of the princess who had ignored him for so long. You remained silent, going back through everything he had said and done since your arrival at the palace. It seemed unlikely that he had gone to so much trouble just to earn Issa's affection, but then again, he was ruthless and spoiled and used to getting what he wanted. After all, he was a royal.

“Is that what I am?” You finally asked. “A performance? A toy for you to bring out and show off when the company arrives? That's not what lo—” But you managed to stop yourself before you could utter the word and show him just how presumptuous you truly were. “I never wanted that. You _know_ I've never wanted that.”

“And what of what I want?” His voice was getting quiet, which was not a good sign.

“Well, what _do_ you want?”

“I want to go to sleep in my own bed tonight instead of sitting here in this tiny, dull excuse for a bedchamber, and I want you to curl up safely beside me.” He crept to the edge of the bed, never taking his eyes off of yours. “I want to be able to touch you. I want you to kiss me and put your fingers through my hair and act as though you damn well like me.” 

He stood up, then, still inching closer and closer to you until he was able to close his fingers around your wrists and pin you against the wall. You were exhausted: sick and broken from the day's events, and so you just...let him. 

“I want to take pleasure in your body. I want you to take pleasure in mine. But most of all I want to spend time with a woman who knows better than to try to punish me by denying me all those things.” His voice was scarcely more than a whisper now, a low rasp in the darkness, and when he pressed his lips to yours, you did not turn away but you also did not respond. This was no longer your prince. Perhaps this was what he was before: the whiny and attention-hungry boy left trailing after a beautiful woman. You could not look at him.

This was just like the night of his first visit, when he'd thrown you onto the bed and threatened you with all those vile things. Tonight, you would not give him the satisfaction of your tears. He pulled away again. “If you will not give it to me, I can take it. I know your body now. I can draw your climax from you with or without your cooperation, make you partake in mine.” It was just as Eir had said: this was certainly the worst in Loki, brought back to the surface thanks to the princess's visit. The memory of your patient and considerate prince did nothing to soften the reality standing before you.

“Then do it,” you said. Before, his words might have set your heart racing, numbed you with fear, but...you were just too exhausted to fight him anymore tonight, especially with your future as a servant looming. You gave one last halfhearted attempt to free yourself from his fingers, which were still locked like shackles around your wrists, but then gave up. Let him do as he wished. Let him become that other man once more. You knew more tonight than you had that first night, and you could take the abuse. One last night before he married the golden princess. “But you are no better than your brother.”

You had spent most of your day surrounded by silence, but the hush that fell between you now was different. It spoke of confusion and threatened violence.

“What does that mean?” If you had not known better, you might have thought you heard panic growing in his voice. In any case, the change was instantaneous. The threat of his body had all but vaporized, replaced by his hunger for knowledge. “Look at me when I speak to you. What does that mean?” 

He pressed himself still closer, but the only emotion that you could summon was gratitude that, even unknowing, he was offering this support. Your knees were growing more unsteady by the minute, and you could not be sure how much longer they would hold you up. “Did my brother—” He was having trouble speaking. He swallowed, and the light of the moon kissed the muscles of his neck as they moved. “Has Thor hurt you?”

“No.” You answered quickly, afraid if you hesitated, he might rush from the room to get the story from his brother. You could see the struggle in his face, the uncertainty of whether he should believe you. How quickly the mood had shifted.

“But he has tried.” That was not a question, and you had to wonder whether he could read the story in your face. He must have, because realization dawned and he dropped your wrists. “You are the bird from the garden. How could I have been so brainless?” His hands hovered above your body, skimming the air near your cheeks, arms, hips, but never actually touching you. “What did he threaten? What did he do?”

“Nothing.” The tears were welling up now, faster than you could will them away. You just wanted Loki to _leave_ and never think about this night again. “Please...” And you gave up the fight, letting your eyes close despite the tears that dropped down your cheeks. Loki brushed one away with his thumb. How could he threaten such brutality in one moment and then show such concern in the next. If you had been less utterly drained, you might have offered him a smile. As it was, the strangeness was only making you cry harder.

Without warning, he slammed his fist into the wall beside your head. Had he remembered the lie you'd told him in the bath? Was he angry with you, then? This was the reaction you'd been expecting all night, but that was a relief, in a way. Maybe this rage might remind him who he was before Issa had arrived, what he had. Just as long as he did not turn that rage onto you. When you looked at him again, his eyes were fixed unblinking on your face.

“You will never be alone with him,” he said. There was a certainty in his voice that reassured you despite the fact that there was no way he could truly guarantee that. If you crossed paths with Thor in the corridors. If he caught you unaware in the garden or the library. If there was another ball or even just more dancing at dinner.

If Loki left with Issa.

The thought brought fresh tears to your eyes, but you swiped them away quickly. Humiliating. You were standing here, shivering here in your shift and crying over a man you had no claim over, despite the silly promise he had made to you mere nights ago. And he got to see it all.

But he was not uncomfortable, nor did he turn it into a joke to try to lighten the mood. Instead, he slid one hand around the back of your neck to pull you away from the cold stone of the wall. Immediately you buried your face in his neck, taking solace in him. Your argument had not actually solved much of anything, but it felt good to have some way to let off some of your nerves. The prince's arms around you offered a comfort that you had not been expecting, but you took it gratefully.

“I am not him. I will never be him.” The heat in his voice revealed just how deeply your words had cut him. He held you tightly. “I lost my temper, darling, and I cannot promise not to do that again, but I would sooner ride naked into battle than harm you.”

One single, tiny laugh escaped your mouth--more nerves than mirth--before you hid your face more firmly in his shoulder. This was your gentle prince returned to you. This was the prince you knew in private. There was nothing to come between you here: not Thor, not Issa, not anything. In the moment, it was easy to tell yourself that not even a princess could take him away from you.

“I heard that,” he said. There was a smile in his voice.. He pulled away to get a better look at you. You really would have preferred to have hidden your face again, but instead you let him look. His face was soft. There was no trace of the fury or concern that had been there only moments before. “Will you come to our bed with me, or am I to spend my night here?”

“Our bed, my lord?” 

It was probably just a slip. Loki was tired. He had gone riding this afternoon and likely spent the evening dancing with the princess. But still, the words were reassuring. They made you feel better about your place in the palace for the first time all day.

“Of course, our bed. Or do you still think of this uninspired chamber as your home?” He caressed your cheek, and you leaned into the touch. 

“No. I just…”

You trailed off. The day had been long and strange, but were you exhausted enough to actually admit your jealousy? He would laugh, there was no doubting that, and you would never hear the end of it. In any case, you had only just managed to admit to yourself that what you felt was jealousy, plain and simple, so it was for the best that he merely pressed a cool finger to your lips and smiled again.

“Come to bed.” He did not expect a confession, then. All he wanted was for you to come to bed with him, and that was easier. You did not have to speak: you nodded, and that was enough for him. He took your hand and led you through the corridors back to the quarters that had become yours.

***

As the door closed behind you in the prince’s chambers, you were struck by a sudden sense of shyness. Loki was too busy undressing to notice that you stood near the doors, unable to step any farther into the room. You tried not to look at him. What if your breath hitched in your throat the way he said it did and attracted his attention to you?

The day had been a strange one. You were exhausted, and still feeling drained. But the prince might find it strange if you did not undress. He might tease you again, beg you to reveal yourself to him. So instead of leaving him that option, you took advantage of his distraction and quickly tugged your shift up over your head, then crawled beneath the blankets. 

By the time Loki had finally turned his attention back to you, you had already made yourself comfortable in the bed and pulled one of the furs up over you. He slipped under it beside you and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder. “Is my lady truly so exhausted that she could not wait for me to join her?”

But his voice held no real reproach.

“You _did_ wake me, my lord,” you said. You felt him laugh once, a quick puff of air against your skin, but he was silent for a long time.

“I missed you.” His voice sounded strange, soft and lacking the bravado that so often colored his words. The sound of it worried you. You reached for his hand and held it where it rested against your hip. His thumb brushed lightly over your skin, sending pleasant chills out from the touch.

“My lord, you spent the day riding across the land with your brother and your night dancing with a beautiful princess. How could you possibly have missed me?” You tried to make the words sound careless, but knew that Loki would hear the melancholy behind them. 

He pulled his hand away from yours, and you braced yourself for his anger, but all he did was wrap his arm around you and pull you in close. You would have liked to pull away, but he was too strong and you were too tired. “I could not keep my eyes off of you at dinner,” he murmured. “You looked so at home with my mother’s ladies, and yet there was a sadness about you. And I knew that I had put it there.”

You did not answer. He had been watching you all along? Had you been so focused on ignoring him that you had not even felt his eyes on you? It troubled you to know that he could read you so easily, but you were not particularly surprised. 

When you did not protest, he went on: “By now I know you have heard that the beautiful princess, as you call her, has always preferred the company of my brother. So when she sat herself beside me at dinner, I was surprised and, darling, I will confess, pleased. But when I saw you come in and accept a place so far away from me rather than take back your rightful position, my attentions began to turn. I had hoped to be able to dance with you after dinner, at least, but by the time I got away from Issa, you were gone.” 

You felt him press a kiss to the back of your neck, and you stared out into the dim light of the room. You’d had everything wrong, all day. You were an idiot. Finally you curled yourself back against your prince’s body and let your eyes slip closed. This was right, at least.

“I thought that you’d be waiting for me here, but the room was empty when I got back. Why did you go to that room?” He shifted behind you, propping himself up on his elbow. Through your eyelids, through the darkness of the room, you could feel him looking at you. 

After that confession, how could you possibly tell him the truth? 

But how could you possibly lie to him?

You hesitated. “Don’t be angry.” 

He laughed, but if you did not know any better, you would have said that he sounded nervous. A royal prince, nervous about anything you could possibly say. You worried your lower lip between your teeth.

“I cannot make any promises, but I would much rather my lady spoke the truth than kept herself from me. Why did you not wish to see me?”

This was torture. You lifted one shoulder in an embarrassed shrug, but rather than allowing you to dismiss the topic so easily, he lowered his mouth to kiss it, humming a question against your skin. 

“I was afraid that you’d bring her back with you.” It was barely audible. Why didn’t he just leave you there in that room for the night? “Issa.” As if there were any doubt as to who you meant.

He was silent for a long time. Fuming, or perhaps merely processing your words. But he didn’t pull his hand away. He did not move even when you curled in on yourself, subconsciously seeking protection. 

“I have promised myself to you. Does my word mean so little?” There was no trace of anger in his voice as he drew his mouth along your skin. You shook your head, but he wanted more. He expected words.

“She is a princess, Loki. She has a palace. She has a throne. I--What am I? I have nothing.” Regardless of his feelings toward you, he could not possibly refute that statement. His parents had had to pay your father for your company, and you brought them nothing of value. Loki’s arms tightened around you.

“You are my beloved,” he said. “You have my heart.”

The words themselves were simple, matter-of-fact, but his voice was heavy. Realization struck you then, filling your body with equal parts shame and joy. Of course he would not utter the actual words: of course he would hide them in some other turn of phrase. This was his confession, or at least as near as you would get. You curled up tighter, this time pressing as much of yourself as you could manage against his body.

“And you have mine, Loki. You know that you do.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, and you thought you could feel him smiling. “That is something I had hoped. It is good to hear it from your lips.” He allowed the silence to stretch out in the darkness, broken only by the whisper of his skin against against yours. Pleasant chills spread through your body as he stroked you absent-mindedly. “Sleep, pet. The day has been long and painful, but I will not leave you.”

By all accounts, the shock and wonderment of his confession should have kept you wide-eyed through the night, but relief and, yes, exhaustion won out. You drifted quickly to sleep and did not stir until morning.

***

Something was tickling you. It crept along your side, up the swell of your hip and across your belly, then down the other side. Still half-asleep, you tried to bat it away, but your fingers tangled in something soft, like...hair.

You startled awake, muscles tightening under an unknown (and yet somehow familiar) weight. Loki was looking up at you from halfway down your body. His lips were still pressed against your hip but curled into a smile that was almost sheepish.

“The door is locked,” he said. “May I continue?”

Part of you wanted to hide your face, but a bigger part of you wanted him to continue, so you summoned the nerve to nod shyly at him. He kissed you reverently, as though you were...holy. His lips drifted lower, but only just: trailing kisses along your upper thighs. Only his fingers, and the way they curled around your knees, gave even the slightest hint of any ulterior motives.

His tongue slipped out from between his lips and traced fast-cooling patterns against you. Your goosebumps turned into shivers of pleasure. But you held back your moans, lest such a sound turn something sweet and unhurried suddenly desperate and grasping.

He caressed your sides, never once lifting his mouth away from you. It tickled again and you squirmed, which served only to make him grasp your hips firmly. He did not look up, but gradually nudged your legs apart and settled himself between them as casually as though he’d spent his whole life there.

But it still did not become desperate, nor grasping. He lavished his attention only on the tender skin on the inside of your thighs. His hands pressed them further apart, but his thumbs lovingly brushed the skin of your knees. He all but ignored your sex, even as you felt the heat growing inside you. He had to know it was there, had to know what he was doing to you. He moved higher, taking your flesh between gentle teeth and eliciting a ragged breath from you. Only then did he look up.

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No.” Your answer was immediate and decisive.

“Shall I keep going, then?” He was enjoying this. At least his smile was one of amusement, rather than lechery.

“Loki…” You were close to whining, but you could not find it in yourself to be ashamed.

“As you wish.” There were more gentle kisses, all moving surely but slowly to the place where by now you were aching for him.

But when he got there, he stopped. He rested his chin on your mound and pulled your legs around him. He was just...looking at you. You arched impatiently against him, but he responded by merely pressing an affectionate kiss against your lower belly.

“Can’t I look at you?” He rubbed his cheek against you, and his smile dropped. “I do not often get to see you illuminated by the dawn. You are beautiful.”

“Loki of the silver tongue,” you dismissed with a shy laugh, though you had to turn your face away to hide the heat in your cheeks.

He lifted his chin from you, and your ears had barely registered his quiet chuckle before his fingers were opening you to him. His tongue curled lazily, sucking just as reverently as he’d kissed. He moved as though he were in no hurry, as though he had all day to spend there, tasting you. Your hands fisted in the sheets until he carefully (and without moving his mouth) moved them to the sides of his head. You complied with his unspoken request and tightened your fingers in his hair. He rewarded you with a rumbling groan, which seemed to travel right to your center. You could not stop the whimper from escaping.

When he looked up at you, you could have cried with frustration.

“What is it, my lady?” He asked, and there was that smirk. “What do you need?”

It was not just a word anymore. It thrummed with your heartbeat, coursed through your veins and throbbed against his tongue. “More, Loki.” You swallowed hard. “Please.”

“Beautiful manners from my beautiful lady. How can I deny her?”

Before he had even finished speaking, he slid two fingers inside you. Your hips jerked high, trying to draw him deeper. He took you back into his mouth, but his movements were no more hurried than they’d been at first. The rhythm of his hand was just as deliberate as his mouth, but even that little bit of friction was enough. You could feel it building and tightened your grip on him, held him in place with your legs, all in hopes of spurring him to action, but he was steadfast.

“Patience, my love.” The words were muffled. His fingers curled, twisted inside of you, and the fever only grew. Finally you gave up. You let your head fall back against the pillows and focused only on your breath and the things that he was doing to you. It was no use chasing after something that the prince did not intend to give. 

He had you trembling. The way your fingers yanked at his hair had to be painful by now, but if he could torture you so, then surely you could do the same to him. His every movement was planned and intentional, sucking and tugging and twisting and eliciting mewls and groans that would have shamed you if the pleasure had left any room for it in your body. He knew precisely what he was doing. You could no longer bear to look at him, but you were certain that he was smirking.

When it hit, it took you by surprise. You barely had time to cry out a warning, not that it would have changed anything. Loki’s rhythm remained the same. He drew out your pleasure, made it last impossibly long, never once faltering. When it finally crested, then began to recede, your whole body went limp and pliant. Still he kept going. The approving growls that vibrated against you sent tiny aftershocks of pleasure, then pain, through your muscles.

“Please, Loki, no more.” You tugged lightly on his hair, doing your best to keep your breathing under control. He pulled away reluctantly, but only after one last long, slow lick that left you shuddering. Immediately he moved to cover your body with his, capturing your lips in a kiss. He tasted of you.

“Is my lady blushing, or have I overexerted her so early in the morning?” His voice held traces of laughter.

“I think both, my lord.” To hide your face, you wrapped your unsteady arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you. He allowed you your moment of shyness, but then you felt a familiar gentle press between your legs. It emboldened you. You had not touched him. In fact, you had not done anything but allow him to touch you, and yet he had such a...reaction. You pushed his shoulders away just far enough so that you could look at him.

He searched your face even as you searched his, and he seemed to find his answer. The barest hint of a grin flickered across his face, but disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. He swallowed hard, and when he spoke, his voice was low:

“Will you have me?”

His meaning was unmistakable, and you nodded without speaking a word, without breaking eye contact. But he did not move right away. Instead, he closed his mouth over yours again and cupped one of your breasts in his hand. He kneaded it gently as he kissed you, tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger in a way that made you gasp and arch into him, and then turned his attentions to the other.

There was no pain when he slid inside you, only a wonderful fullness and an aching need. He held you tightly to him as he moved. The shared heat of your bodies, along with the steady rhythm of his hips, led you into a daze. The outside world no longer existed. There was only the slick plunge and slide, the pattern of repletion and then want, and through it all the prince’s breath as it came hot and steady against your ear.

There was no room for teasing, and no need for begging, because the two of you were moving together. Your hips lifted to meet each new thrust, pulling him deeper. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders, and he kept one arm wrapped around your back while the other gripped your hip to guide you. You could hear his voice humming against your skin, but the words themselves were unable to break through the haze that filled your mind. All you could focus on was the feeling of him above you, inside you. 

He lifted his head to crush his mouth against yours, and, just like that, you came undone together. He emptied himself into your shuddering body, and you clung tightly to him, his name falling from your lips in a single breathless chant, until your muscles went limp for the second time that morning. He all but collapsed on top of you, moving his hand from your hip to your cheek as he kissed you.

When he finally regained enough strength (or perhaps presence of mind) to roll away from you and back onto the mattress, he propped his head up on an elbow and looked at you. “Was that to your liking, my lady?” He asked, as casually as though he were asking about a meal. He combed his fingers tenderly through your hair, pausing only to work through a persistent snag.

“I think that perhaps we should wake with the dawn more often,” you ventured. You could not believe you’d spoken such words aloud, but Loki did not tease you for them. He threw his head back and laughed--laughed!--deeply and with abandon. To think that you had been jealous of the way he’d smiled for Issa.

As his laughter slowly dissolved, Loki stretched himself out among the blankets and pillows. His face gave nothing away: he was looking at you much the same way he always did. His eyes were soft, his mouth relaxed. “It would be an honor to wake you like this every morning.”

Before you could answer (or hide your face), there was a bit of noise outside the door, and then the handles jiggled. You looked at the prince questioningly, but he merely folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. “The doors are locked, pet. That’s probably your girl with our breakfast.”

Sindri, then. You launched yourself off of the bed and wrapped Loki’s cloak around you to cover yourself. You had nearly reached the doors when you remembered the prince, laid out in all his glorious nudity there on the bed. It wasn’t right for Sindri to see that. You growled quietly to yourself but called out--”Just a moment!” before striding over to the bed to fling a sheet over the prince. He opened one eye and grinned lazily at you but said nothing.

You went to open the doors, then, and cast one last look over your shoulder to be certain that Loki had not kicked the sheet off again. As you’d expected, Sindri was standing there. She took in the sight--you, wrapped in the prince’s cloak with flushed cheeks and hair mussed from sleep; Loki, still spread out on his back as though he were soaking in the most delicious sunlight--and looked stricken.

“Apologies, my lady. Please, I beg you to forgive me. I did not mean to interrupt, I just--The ladies in the kitchen, they gave me your breakfast and bade me to bring it to you like always.” She tried to sink into a curtsy, but her knuckles were white around the handles of the tray. You closed one hand around hers and smiled gently.

“Shh, Sindri, everything is fine. You’ve interrupted nothing.” It was your turn to blush at her assumptions, though she was not wholly incorrect. “We simply...have yet to rise and dress.”

The girl nodded tightly. You could not help but notice how carefully she avoided looking past you towards Loki on the bed. Poor darling. As before, you could not blame her for her trepidation. She stood as though frozen, so you tugged ever-so-gently on the tray.

“Would you like to come in?” It might as well have been a rhetorical question; you meant only to shake her from her daze. She paled and looked uncomfortable, clearly trying to find a way to turn you down politely. But her terror faded when she looked up to see you grinning apologetically at her.

“I mustn’t, I have so many other duties to attend to. Thank you for your kind offer, my lady. Please, I hope you find your breakfast to your liking.” She allowed you to take the tray from her and sank into a proper curtsy before hurrying away.

You closed the doors carefully and brought the food over to the bed. Loki appeared to be dozing, but as you stood over him, the corners of his mouth began to curl into a smile. “Your breakfast, my lord,” you murmured. His eyes opened and raked along your body, taking in the sight of you.

“I have never had such service,” he said. “Brought to my bedside by a beautiful woman swathed only in my cloak? Tell me, gentle nymph, will you feed it to me as well?” But he sat up and took it into his lap, then gestured for you to join him.

“Are you wounded, my lord prince? Are you too weak to feed yourself? Shall I fetch the healer?” Your words were much bolder than perhaps they should have been.

“I have had servants whipped for less cheek,” Loki growled, but there was a glint in his eyes that assured you this was all in good fun. His face softened. “It is a very good thing that my lady will never serve anyone. It would be a shame to cow such heart.” He took a large chunk out of some kind of fried meat.

The thought of him punishing any of the servants in the palace made you uncomfortable. Your mind turned immediately to Sindri, the shy, skittish child. “Loki, have you ever--”

“I have never harmed your girl,” he said before you could even finish your question. His expression was one of tolerant amusement. “Because she is so young, she was likely my mother’s before she was assigned to you. Nor have I harmed your pupil from the library. I think I recognize her from the kitchens, a safe distance from my tyranny.”

You chewed thoughtfully, trying to find the words that would finally convince him that you did not think of him in such a way. By the time you swallowed, he had fixed his eyes directly on your face, effectively silencing your thoughts. His gaze was sharp and missed nothing. It felt as though he were reading your very soul. To distract yourself, and as an excuse to look away, you took a sip of tea.

Now that you were thusly freed from his attention, it was easier to speak. “Do you think of yourself as a tyrant, Loki? Do you truly believe yourself to be a monster?”

He had no quick retort. Instead, he speared another chunk of meat and spent so long chewing it that you began to believe he did not plan on answering you at all. But then he spoke, with a bravado that you did not believe for a second: “It is not so bad. The cowards leave you alone when you are a monster, so you are able to surround yourself with only worthwhile people.”

You just looked at him, sitting pale and perfect amongst the rich blankets and furs of his bed. He leaned forward to pick up his own tea and some of his hair (hardly even mussed from sleeping, of course) fell over his shoulder. When he looked back at you over the rim of his mug, his eyes were questioning. You could not put into words exactly why his statement bothered you. Was it because he thought himself a monster? Was it because you knew that so many others only knew his public face, and would never know this private, tender side of him? Was it because you still carried the nagging belief that you yourself were not worthwhile? 

Before you could even try to speak, someone rapped quickly on the door before pushing his way inside. Loki's expression was lazy as he glanced at the door, but his face hardened in an instant and he moved quickly to shield you from the visitor’s view. You knew who it was, of course--knew the moment you saw the scarlet flash of his cloak--and wrapped one of the furs around your shoulders. Loki’s cloak hid you, but it was not enough to keep you from feeling naked in Thor’s presence.

“How dare you barge in here.” Loki’s voice was a low growl threatening violence.

“There is a situation at the gates.” Thor was unaffected. Probably he had spent most of his life facing his brother’s temper. “We are required.”

“Right this very moment? Can’t you see I am having breakfast with _my_ lady?” You could not help but notice the strange emphasis he had put on the word ‘my’, or the way he shifted again to keep himself between you and Thor. You smiled despite your discomfort.

“I shall tell the intruders to come back at a more convenient time then, so that you may finish your breakfast. Put your clothes on and get out to the gates before they storm the palace.” 

And with that, he turned and left, not even bothering to close the doors behind him. Loki seemed unconcerned, and even reached to spear another hunk of meat. You nudged him lightly.

“That sounds serious.” Shouldn’t he be moving perhaps just a little bit faster?

He shrugged. “If my brother is anything, he is prone to exaggeration. He thrives on this. It’s more likely that there’s a travelling peddler out there than an entire mob.” A heavy sigh, and then he stood. “But I’d better join him, lest he behead the wretched peddler and bring on an actual angry mob looking for revenge. I won’t be long. In the meantime, I’ve arranged for one of the servants at the stables to teach you to ride. Without you, the ride yesterday was hopelessly dull.” 

You weren’t sure you believed that, but you accepted his words anyway, with a slight nod. There was no real reason to object, no need to bring up the fact that you did not see how he could possibly have missed you whilst riding with the gorgeous princess. Instead, you drained your mug of tea and placed it back on the tray. “Then I suppose you can find me in the stables,” you said. “Unless I fail miserably as a rider and my horse carries me across the grounds and out into the wild.”

Loki bent forward to catch your lips with his. As he kissed you, he slid his fingers through your hair and tugged lightly. When he finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead against yours and met your eyes. “If that happened, I would track you to the ends of the planet to bring you back.” One last quick kiss and he straightened again, grinning. “But it will not happen. The horses are much better trained than that.” 

You watched him pull a tunic--yesterday’s, if you were not mistaken--over his head. He saw you looking and flashed you a quick smile before coming in for another kiss. His teeth grazed your lower lip, and one hand crept beneath the cloak to rest against your collarbone, but you turned away with a smile. “Your brother is waiting, my lord,” you reminded him gently. 

The prince’s eyes were dark as he straightened again, and it looked as though he had some disparaging comment resting on his tongue, but then his face softened into a smile. “The hours shall be an eternity, my lady,” he offered with a tight little bow, and then he slipped out through the doors.

You sat there on the edge of the bed for a few moments, looking at the space where he had been. It would be all too easy to allow yourself to worry. Images of angry villagers or mobs of violent bandits were all too near the surface of your mind; it really wouldn’t take much to call them forth. But instead, you stood up and strode into the washroom to get cleaned up. There were more concrete things to worry about at the present moment.

Like, apparently, learning to ride a horse.

***


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! Sometimes I get into these moods where I write and write and write and just cannot for the life of me find a good stopping point for a chapter so I keep writing and then slowly taper off because I feel like I'm going to end up writing a 50-page chapter and then it just kind of...sits for a while. But I went back through what I've written and found a good stopping point, I think. It just so happens to be a cliffhanger. I'm just going to have to apologize for ever promising not to write another cliffhanger and do what needs to be done. :)
> 
> As always, all of you still reading this are beautiful and perfect and I swear that this story would never have gotten this far without you. I cannot thank you enough.
> 
> Rereading this chapter made me realize that I really like this chapter! So that's good! It's nice to have confidence in something you've written! Unfortunately I find that the bits that I have the most confidence in tend to be the worst bits. Self-indulgence or something. But really this whole story is self-indulgent. I'll leave it up to you to decide.
> 
> Warning: There's some smut towards the end of this one, but I'm starting to realize that I'm not so great at writing PWPs with this Loki and this Reader character. Nearly all of the smutty scenes in the story so far have also had important character development entwined in them. As far as trigger warnings go, I'd say if you've made it this far in the story and you're still reading, the smut in this chapter should be mild enough.

With every step you took towards the stables, the desire within you to run away in the opposite direction grew. There was no real need for you to learn to ride a horse, was there? Surely Loki could arrange for a carriage when you needed to go somewhere, or just carry you with him on his own horse the way he’d done the last time you’d ridden. But you kept walking. If you lost your nerve and went back to the palace now, how would you explain it to the prince? 

At this point, It was not likely that he would punish you for disobeying an order. But it was even less likely that he would simply let this slide. He would ask you why you hadn’t gone, and when he found out it was because the giant creatures simply frightened you, he would not be well pleased. So you kept moving on shaky legs. 

When you reached the stables, you drew in several deep steadying breaths before you stepped inside. It smelled familiar; it smelled like home. Your family had not had enough money to keep a horse of your own, but the smell of dirt, straw, and manure had all but permeated the streets of your village. Thus emboldened, you continued inside.

Except for the horses (dozens of them, each one staring at you with their ears pricked forward and then looking away as they lost interest), the place was empty. Childish hope surged within you--if the servant who was meant to teach you to ride was not here, then there would be no shame in returning to the palace. But you hesitated for a moment. Perhaps the servant would get into trouble. Or perhaps they were hurt. It was better to wait.

“Hello?” You called out. A snuffling, snorting sound came from one of the stalls farthest away from you, but that was the only response. You took a few steps further into the dim warmth of the stables. “I don’t mean to trouble you, but I was told to come here…?”

Your voice was too loud, even for the expansiveness that surrounded you. There was another snort, this time closer to you, and then a scratching, ruffling sound from above. For as familiar as this place smelled, everything else about it was utterly alien. You had been here long enough. You could go back to the palace now with no guilt whatsoever, because at least you had tried. Perhaps the servant had been called away to attend to more pressing matters. Anything to keep them from being punished.

As you turned to go, there was a strange whistling sound and a blur of movement, and suddenly there was someone crouched in front of you. You cried out before you could stop yourself and stumbled backwards. The figure straightened and extended his arms out in front of himself as though to placate you. “Please don’t be frightened, my lady,” he said in a rush of breath. His eyes were wide and wild as they stared out at you from beneath a shock of dark hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He spoke in a low voice, and slowly, as though you were a wild creature suddenly cornered. In another situation you might have felt the first prickles of indignation, but as it was, you did feel rather like a wild creature suddenly cornered, and thus appreciated his attempts at soothing you. For a long time, the two of you stood there, just staring at each other while your heart rate began to return to normal.

It felt like your turn to speak. “Are you...the one I’m meant to see to learn to ride?” It was strange, he seemed to belong here with the horses. He had to be one of the servants who worked in the stables. There was just something about him.

“Aye, my lady.” He bowed deeply, but quickly, and grinned up at you. “They call me Aurok. I’ve taught many to ride, ladies and would-be soldiers alike. I’ve never had a student I couldn’t teach. Just a few hours with me, and you’ll be as comfortable in the saddle as you are in the palace.”

You laughed, quick and mirthless. “That comfortable?” He clearly meant well, but that didn’t say much for your lessons. 

He barely noticed: he was in motion again already, leading a black horse out of a nearby stall. You held your breath as he coaxed the horse’s mouth open and slid a bit over its head. What if it bit him? Those teeth could do some damage--you’d seen a few such injuries back in the village, though they were almost always on younger riders who hadn’t yet learned to care for their horses. He hefted a saddle onto the horse’s back, and you edged closer to watch as he tightened the straps. He moved easily, with a confidence that you could not imagine having, not while penned up with such a large animal. All the while, he mumbled to the horse as though they were old friends, and kept patting its glossy side.

“Should I be learning how to do that?” You asked warily. The horse didn’t seem overly bothered by the situation it now found itself in, but what if it changed its mind?

Aurok gave the horse one last solid pat on its neck and turned to look at you. “You could if you wanted to, my lady, but, living here in the palace, you don’t need to. Any time you want to ride somewhere, this is my job.” He gestured toward you with the reins in his hands as he lifted them up over the horse’s head. “And we always keep a couple of horses tacked up and waiting in case there’s an emergency.”

He led the horse past you, out through the doors, and you followed. He was still speaking over his shoulder. “It’s true that most of the children in villages learn to tack up their horses before they learn to ride them, but what’s the point in being royalty if you don’t have servants to do the boring work for you?” He flashed another grin at you, but you just crossed your arms.

“I’m not royal,” you said. It was irksome, the way so many people presumed to know your status when they truly knew nothing about you. 

“You’re betrothed to Prince Loki, aren’t you?” There was a familiar glint in the boy’s eyes--familiar in that you’d seen it so often with your prince. It was mischief. He was teasing you. You uncrossed your arms and let them drop to your sides. Your hands, left with nothing else to do, curled into fists. “No. We are not betrothed. We are not...anything.” That wasn’t quite correct, but there was something about the way this man was speaking to you that flustered you. 

“Very well, my lady,” Aurok said with a bit of a bow, and then busied himself with double-checking the straps around the horse. “It’s just… If a man picked me out of a room packed with beautiful  women and brought me to live in his palace, I’d have to think that meant something.” He patted the horse’s side again, and it swung its head around to nudge him in the shoulder. The bond between man and horse had always struck you as strange, though necessary. What else but friendship could prevent such a large creature from immediately stomping a man into the ground? But how could an animal understand the concept?

“Think what you like,” you finally answered, and took an uneasy step towards the two. “But you are as betrothed to Loki as I am.”

“That’s a crying shame, miss, because I’d look absolutely ridiculous in a wedding gown.” He looked at you for a long while. There was no mischief in his eyes this time, only solemn contemplation. Just as his silence was beginning to make you uncomfortable, a smile broke out across his face and he gestured you over. “This is Thunder,” he said. “He’s a little strong-willed, but he’s a good horse. He’ll take care of you.”

“Good to meet you, Thunder,” you said, and reached out a hand to pat his nose. He snorted and tossed his head to get out of Aurok’s grip, shuffling his feet as though itching to run away. That was promising. You let your hand drop to your side and looked over at Aurok. He seemed surprised by the horse’s reaction, but when he realized you were looking at him, he eased his facial expression back into a smile. 

“Strong-willed, like I said,” he ventured. “But well-trained. I promise you, you’re perfectly safe with the two of us.”

He sounded more certain than you were, but, then again, he did probably spend most of his life with these horses, so you told yourself to trust him. He moved around to the other side of the horse and demonstrated how to lift yourself into the stirrups a few times. When he was finished, he took a step back and looked at you expectantly.

Right. Because it was your turn. You drew in a breath to steady your nerves and lifted your foot high into the stirrup. You were grateful for the trousers that had been brought to your room, because this would have been impossible in one of your dresses. Just as you had hoisted yourself into the air for the first time, Thunder snorted again and took a step away from you. It was all you could do to cling to his mane and keep from falling off of him into the dirt.

“Whoa, don’t panic, miss. Horses do that sometimes when you’re not expecting it. Just get down and try it again.”

It was easy for Aurok to be so nonchalant: he was standing on solid ground, not suspended by bits of leather and metal and a fistful of hair. But you did as he said, swinging ungracefully to the ground and taking a moment to collect yourself before trying again. This time, Thunder did not move as much, and you were able to swing your other leg around to straddle him.

“I did it!” The exhilaration was unexpected, but more than welcome. You had seated yourself rather comfortably on the back of an animal that was several times larger than you were--and on your second try, too! You pumped one fist in the air, while the other remained clamped tightly in Thunder’s mane. When you looked at Aurok, he beamed back at you, though it was clear he was trying not to laugh.

“Well done, my lady. Now get down and try it again.”

You were about to protest, but stopped yourself just in time. The man knew what he was doing; he’d said so himself. If you were to practice mounting and dismounting the horse all afternoon, then what other choice did you have, really?

Dismounting was at least as tricky as mounting. When you stood in the stirrups, they wobbled, and if your hand was not still clutched painfully in Thunder’s mane, you might have found a way to dump yourself into the dirt. But you took a breath and swung your leg over his back. When your feet were finally planted on the ground again, you looked over at Aurok. To his credit, his face was mostly blank: no traces whatsoever of amusement or the threats of laughter.

“Again,” he prompted.

This time was easier: you lifted your foot into the stirrup and rose with little grace into the air. But the stablehand did not give you any time to celebrate. He looked on, and Thunder stood with growing annoyance, as you mounted and dismounted over and over again, until you thought your legs were going to give out on you. The last time, as you settled yourself in the saddle, Aurok’s quick “Again” did not come. Instead, he was leading another horse out of one of the stables.

“You’ve completed your first lesson, miss. Well done. Now we’ll move on to the actual riding part.” He lifted himself into the saddle with an effortless grace that made you feel all the more ridiculous about your clumsy attempts.

The day wore on. Your legs grew stiff, and your bottom sore, but, little by little, you began to feel more capable. Aurok taught you the little movements with your thighs and feet to signal to your horse what you wanted to do, and even offered with a toothy grin to teach you how to make him gallop. (You declined, of course, with a barely-contained grimace.) 

“I think you’re ready to ride around the grounds,” he said after one of your laps around the paddock. 

That didn’t seem right. “Are you sure? I’ve only just started riding today. Is that a good idea?” The uncertainty in your voice irritated you. You should not have such a mistrust of horses or your instructor. Children were taught how to ride, and you had not been a child for a very long time. You had not always been this uneasy, either: where was the girl in the tattered dresses and her brother’s hand-me-down trousers scurrying up to the tops of the trees in the forest?

Aurok was nonplussed. Perhaps he had taught many a nervous swooning lady. The thought chafed you: you were most certainly not a nervous swooning lady. “How else do you expect to learn, if you’re not practicing somewhere real?” Aurok asked. “You can ride around the fence for days, but that’s nothing like riding for real. Come on, it’ll be fine.”

And it would, you told yourself, because you would find a way to shake this uncertainty. He led you through the fence and across the grounds. He was right. Riding over the grounds, with their cobblestones and hills and dusty paths, was vastly different from riding around in front of the stables. But it was easy enough to adjust.

You were riding. It was different from the time with Loki, because the saddle was all yours, and there was no one behind you to hold onto you. It was exhilarating. Thunder had yet to throw you off his back, and was proving himself more than capable of handling the outing. 

Riding was peaceful. You were riding a short distance behind Aurok and his horse, which made speaking difficult, so you felt no need to make conversation with him. Instead, you were left mainly to your own mind. Except for the few occasions when the man ahead of you pointed something out--some building on the grounds, or a patch of late-blooming flowers, and once a scraggly wolflike creature that slunk across your path and hardly seemed to belong so close to the royal palace--your thoughts grew still and quiet. There was only the sun overhead and the horse below and the beautiful grounds around you. You could not keep the smile from growing across your face.

When the sun was directly overhead, your thoughts drifted back to Loki, and his business at the gates. Had he returned? You had not heard or seen any troops rushing to offer backup to the princes, but there were a hundred explanations for that. You looked over at Aurok, who guided his horse up beside you. “Where are the gates? Can we go there?”

“That depends,” Aurok answered with a playful grin. “You’re not planning to flee, are you? My duties are to serve you and keep you safe, but I’d like to avoid the beating I’d receive if I let you leave.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” When you realized how rude and imperious you sounded, you cringed and looked over at him apologetically, but he was still just watching you with an amused light in his eyes. “It’s just--Loki was called to diffuse some sort of situation there, and I’d just like to…” To what? Make sure that no blood had been spilled? That there were no bodies of people who had been left to die?

He did not press you on your reasons, for which you were grateful. You would not be able to explain them to him any better than you could explain them to yourself, and it would be unforgivably rude to try to use Loki’s status to dismiss the subject. 

“Very well, my lady. It would be my pleasure to lead you to the gates. Just...no running away.” He fixed his eyes on you for another moment before heading off in another direction.

His suspicions made you think. Running away seemed like a ridiculous prospect today, but would you have done it in the early days of your stay? Likely not, even then. Where could you have gone where the King’s forces would not find you? Your father would have been less than thrilled to see you--he would certainly have been more worried about having to give the money back than sheltering you from the soldiers who sought to bring you back. Just the thought of his reaction made you shiver.

But now there was even less desire to run, just an uncomfortable dread in the pit of your stomach about what you would find at the gates.

You rode for what felt like a very long time, though your sore limbs and aching rear may have made it seem longer than it truly was. You felt a fleeting discomfort when Aurok led you into a copse of trees, but pushed it away. It was clearly a different area of the grounds--not to mention the fact that Aurok was clearly not Thor.

When the treeline broke, you found yourself looking at the tallest gates you had ever seen in your life. Surely you must have seen then when you passed through them on that fateful afternoon, but you had hardly been in any state to notice them. Walls of gleaming white rock towered above your head--so high that looking at the top actually made you dizzy. The gates themselves were deceptively simple: rather than elaborate designs or wrought iron, there were smooth metal plates keeping would-be intruders out.

Thunder stamped in the dirt and sighed in a way that seemed uneasy even to you, but there were no signs of trouble here. In fact, there were no signs of anything here. 

“Is the lady satisfied?” Aurok asked as he swung his horse around to face you. “I see nothing amiss here. Everything is as it should be.”

“I shall take your word for it. I am certain that you have more knowledge of this place than I do.” The sun was high and warm overhead, but a chill had set in beneath your clothes. Here there was only you, Aurok, the cold dead stone of the walls and the hushed whispering of the leaves overhead. You wanted, desperately, to get away from there and back to the palace, where you could feel the thrum of life and people around you. Aurok, on the other hand, seemed perfectly comfortable here. You wondered if he was ever uncomfortable anywhere.

Thankfully, he noticed your uneasiness. “Worry not, miss. Your prince is safe somewhere in the palace. I am sure of it. Would you like to return?”

“Please.” How strange that one syllable could convey so much of your gratitude and relief. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“It is an honor to serve you,” he said. It was a formal response, but lacked the appropriate distance. He spoke in jest, as though he were speaking to an old friend instead of a noble. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to you as anything but a member of the royal family. It was nice to hear that lack of deference for once. You could not help but grin.

Aurok rode more slowly on the way back, frequently dropping back to ride beside you. His words earlier must have been to test you, because his subservient demeanor all but fell away. He began to speak more freely about his family--a mother and three sisters at home just off the palace grounds who all depended on his modest wages. When he spoke of his job, working with and caring for the horses, his eyes lit up and he grew still more animated. He asked about your family once, but his golden eyes caught your hesitance and he was quick to point out a ruby-throated bird off in the distance a way to change the subject.

It was nice, riding with him. The way he treated you like just another person was comforting even though you knew Loki would not be happy if he found out. Little by little, the chill that had set in at the gate began to fade away. You found yourself laughing, and your grip on the reins finally began to loosen a bit.

By the time you returned to the stables, your whole body ached but somehow you didn’t mind very much. Aurok dismounted his horse and you half-expected him to come help you off of yours, but he stood there patting his horse and squinting up at you.

You’d spent too long being served here.

So you stood up a little in the saddle and swung your leg over to drop to the ground. You would probably never move with as much grace as the stablehand, but you were off the horse at least. The two of you went back into the stables, but he stopped short once he was inside. You nearly ran right into him, and surely horses didn’t laugh, did they?

As your eyes adjusted to the light, you saw what had made him stop. There were six figures standing inside: the familiar forms of Loki and his brother, the sharp-faced lady you had seen so often at dinner, and three strange men. They all looked over at the two of you. One of the strange men--with blonde hair and a thin body that nevertheless hinted at great strength--murmured something to Thor, and they laughed while Loki’s face grew stony.

“Whose idea was it to put my lady on that horse?” He spat, stepping forward.

“Mine, of course, sire. Thunder is strong, and well-trained. I knew she would be safe on him. Have I made a mistake?” All the deference and respect that he had lost whilst speaking to you now seemed to rush back into his voice. Was he frightened, or just wary? It was so hard to tell.

“This monster is not fit for any lady, let alone mine. Or do you not remember the joy he took last summer in flinging soldier after soldier to the ground?” You did not recognize his voice, as twisted as it was with rage.

“I remember, sire, but he has been tamed considerably since then. He was ungelded then, and untrained. I assure you, he did not so much as start into a trot with her sitting astride him. I would not have allowed it.” Aurok’s tone was pleading.

“Shall I assume, then, that you allowed him to break one soldier’s arm and crack another’s head open?” Loki was advancing towards him, looming threateningly. Aurok’s horse pawed at the dirt, and Thunder nudged your shoulder. You wanted to put yourself between the two men. Thor and the others were just standing there. The blond man seemed amused; the rest of them showed no reaction whatsoever. This was horrible. “So which is it? Either you have complete control over that creature and allowed him to maim royal soldiers or you are lying to me and willingly put my lady in danger.” He was snarling now, and you grew fearful for Aurok’s life, nevermind his job. Remembering all those sisters at home, you stepped in and pressed your hand to Loki’s chest.

“Loki. I am unharmed. Aurok is a wonderful instructor, and exceedingly careful. Have you seen his bond with the horses? No one can control such creatures at every moment, but they respect him. There was no danger whatsoever.” You were beginning to speak just a little too quickly, too frantically. You drew in a breath and stepped closer to him. “And now I can join you the next time you go riding, if you’ll have me.”

An amazing thing happened when you looked up at him. Loki’s eyes flickered back to the stablehand once more before coming to rest on your face, and as you looked on, you could see his anger draining away. His features softened and he reached up to touch your cheek. When he spoke, his voice was nigh-inaudible: he was speaking only for you. “Of course I’ll have you.” He raised his voice to address Aurok, but did not move his eyes from yours. “If I see that horse anywhere near her ever again, I’ll have you dismissed. You’ll never see any of these horses again.”

“Understood, my lord.” When he slipped the reins from your fingertips, his skin felt chilled. You had found the place where he was uncomfortable, you thought grimly. You did not dare look at him: instead you watched Loki’s face as he watched him lead the horses away.

The silence was uncomfortable. You pressed your cheek more firmly against Loki’s hand. “I truly am unharmed,” you mumbled. “Please don’t be angry. Thunder was very well-behaved.”

Loki’s eyebrows drew together in a scowl, and he led you out of the stables without bidding the others farewell. He remained silent as you walked, only stopping when you had reached the garden and were standing on the dock at the edge of the water. He gestured for you to sit.

“That horse is of my brother’s fleet. Fandral made a crude joke about you riding one of Thor’s horses.”

Fandral, then, was the name of the man with the light hair. Your face grew hot and you readjusted your legs beneath you. “Why would I not be given one of the horses from your fleet?” That seemed more reasonable than riding one of his brother’s horses, in any case. But if was Loki’s turn to fall silent, and his sullenness was your answer. You wished you hadn’t asked.

“Only the one who is to be king needs a fleet.” He sounded strange: surely he was not embarrassed? “I have only my horse, given to me by my father.”

You struggled for the correct thing to say. “But that is much more reasonable, isn't it? What use does any one man have for so many horses? He has only one--” You stopped yourself before you could speak one of your father’s coarse words. “Er, he can ride only one at a time, rather.”

Loki’s laugh was unexpected, bursting forth from his mouth and surprising you both. He drew your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles over and over.

“Oh, pet. You are so very, very dear to me.”

Your face grew hot once more, though this time it had nothing to do with shame. “You are...to me, also,” you managed. The words were clunky and tumbled over themselves in the air. You would never move with Aurok’s grace and you would never speak with Loki’s. The only indication he gave of having heard you was a series of kisses trailing along the back of your hand and down the soft underside of your wrist. When he finished, he pressed your hand to his chest and sighed. He was looking out at the water, but you were sure he was not seeing it. 

The silence that stretched now between you was companionable--a welcome change from the one in the stables. You were loath to break it, but still you were curious about what had happened that morning. As a compromise you turned your head to study the prince. He had no wounds, or at least none that you could see. He looked tired, but you wondered if that did not have more to do with whatever thoughts were holding him captive. Was the intruder merely a traveling peddler, as he had predicted? If so, then why had you felt such unease at the gates? And why had it been so unnaturally quiet there? You had not heard even a single birdsong.

“What somber thoughts trap my lady so?” He asked. His voice startled you from your thoughts.

“I could ask my lord the same thing.”

“Perhaps, but I asked first. Will you share your mind with me?” His face was earnest even as his eyes sparkled.

“But what if it is only the mystery of my mind which makes me so interesting to you. If I share it all, then what will happen? Perhaps you will grow tired of me.” But you kept your voice light. In truth, you merely did not want to face his teasing if you told him about the gates.

“Nonsense. The more I come to know your mind, the more I come to want you.” He turned to face you entirely, and took your face in his hands. “But keep your secrets if it pleases you. I will have you completely, secrets and all." His voice was low and held no trace of teasing.

“What happened at the gate, Loki?” You asked. The way he was looking at you made it hard to speak.

“It was nothing.” He brushed his thumbs across your cheekbones. “An animal had gotten itself trapped in the gates and set off the alarms. There was no damage done, and certainly no angry mob. You were not worried for me, were you?”

“You know I was, Loki. The last time you were called away, your brother brought you back mostly dead.” It was more reasonable for you to be frightened thinking about that night than the silent gates, so you allowed yourself to feel no shame for this.

“If my duties would allow it, I would never leave your side. Unfortunately, that is not possible, but I will not let anything as permanent as death separate us.”

He’d said that before. It was hard not to roll your eyes. No one had such power over life. Surely Loki, who had seen blood and battle should know that better than a plain girl from a village outside of the protection of the palace gates. “You should not make such vows. It is foolish.”

“Then what would you have me vow? Whatever your heart desires.” He was smiling: you could hear the curl in his lips.

You did not even have to think. “Promise me that you will take more care when you are away. That you will not take foolish risks or tempt another’s anger.” Ridiculous tears blurred your vision. You remembered the way he had looked when he stood there in the great hall, dripping rain and blood onto the tiles. “I never want to have to gaze into the gory depths of your body ever again. Promise me that.”

The raggedness of your voice shocked him. You were utterly moronic. He had been speaking in jest and you had turned so grim on him. But you could not look away: he still had not let go of your face.

“Of course I swear it. You do not even need to ask.”

You felt stifled. It was easy to blame the clouds which had gradually rolled across the sky to choke out the sun with a blanket of gray, but you knew it had more to do with the way he was looking at you. It was like he had never seen you before. When you could bear it no longer, you turned your head to the side and knocked his hands away from your face.

“Those are the somber thoughts that trap me and entice you so,” you mumbled. “My secret is that I am dull and fearful and childish.”

Loki did not answer, but you did not worry yourself about his reaction. If he wanted so badly to know your secrets, then let him learn them.

There was a gentle pressure on your chin. You allowed him to turn your face to him again, but rather than scolding you for speaking so, he closed his mouth over yours. The kiss was unhurried: sweet rather than demanding. When he nudged your lips apart to press his tongue to yours, his patience made you shiver. He must have felt it, because he shifted again to pull you into his lap, cradling you against him to shield you from the wind. One hand fisted in your hair, the force incongruent with the gentleness of his mouth. Only when your head began to swim did he finally break the kiss.

He did not pull very far away, just hovered there above you, his face filling your vision as he studied you.

“Why--?” But you stopped. You wanted to ask him what had prompted such a reaction, but every question that formed in your mind would surely have fallen flat.

“I do not like that I am the reason for your unhappiness,” he said. His voice was thick. “But that you have such concern for me is the deepest honor that anyone could ever bestow upon me. Thank you.”

“Of course I have such concern for you.” Though he held you securely, you shifted with discomfort in his arms. “I lo--”

There was a joyous whoop nearby, and then dizzying, thunderous footsteps pounding past you. A seemingly endless parade of bodies rushed past, each one diving off the end of the dock and into the frigid water. The last swimmer dove in too close to the edge and sent a spray of water up at you, soaking your clothing and confirming your suspicions. Freezing.

“Thanks very much,” Loki spat. He rose and helped you to your feet as well.

“We didn’t see you there,” the blond one--Fandral--said. “We didn’t splash you, did we, my lady? Many apologies.” He seemed reasonably contrite. You managed a smile and brushed at the leg of your trousers. It was soaked.

“Quite alright,” you said. There was no malice behind the man’s eyes, at least. “Aren’t you worried you’ll catch your death in there?”

All of the swimmers laughed. The shortest man (though of course that meant nothing in the water) with red hair ducked under the water and resurfaced, pondwater dripping from his beard. “The cold is bracing,” he said. “It is good for a warrior’s constitution. Care to join us?”

Loki raised his eyebrows at you, but did not look overly surprised when you shook your head. “We do not need to frolic in half-frozen water to improve our constitutions,” he said.

“You’ll have to join us another time,” the lady in the water called to you. Her smile was dazzling and stood out in sharp relief against the gray of the skies and the murk of the water. The thought of swimming with her--or even talking to her for very long--intimidated you. “I spend most of my days surrounded by these oafs. I miss the company of a woman sometimes.”

Thor growled--playfully, you hoped--and reached out to dunk her under the water, but she moved away from him as fluidly as the water around her. The other men snickered.

“Perhaps when the water is warm again,” you said. You would like to get to know her, but she did not seem as open as the lady Eir. 

“I shall hold you to it,” she said, but your conversation was cut short when Thor got his hands around her shoulders. She had to turn away to wrestle herself free.

“The lady Sif has always been more than happy in the company of my brother and his warriors,” Loki mumbled into your ear. “And if he does not take his hands off of her soon, he will regret it dearly. “Would you like to stay and watch?”

You ventured a glance at him through the corner of your eye and nodded. Loki laughed, then folded you into his arms to watch the situation unfold. It was just as Loki had said: the lady struggled, but the moment her fingers closed around Thor’s wrists and pried them off her shoulders, the tides turned. She spun around in the water and sent Thor flailing out of view. The men looked on and laughed as she dove in after him. The roiling splashes on the surface were a testament to the battle going on below.

“Loki, you are positively glowing.” The voice was familiar, but that made it no less surprising when it sounded behind you. Issa’s form came slinking into view. She was unfastening her gown as she moved. “Your village girl suits you.” She offered you a smile that was almost as cold as the water soaking your trousers. You would have liked to pull away from Loki, but he was faster than you: he tightened his arms around your waist and  buried his face in the back of your neck. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, standing in front of her like this, but it wasn’t uncomfortable enough to make a scene about it, so you gritted your teeth and said nothing.

“She does,” he said. Issa’s smile flickered once, becoming more of a grimace before she caught it.

“How nice.” With that, she dropped her gown into a silken puddle on the dock. She stood there just long enough for your (and Loki’s, undoubtedly) eyes to travel the length of her body. Her skin glowed even in the gloom around her, free from imperfections and utterly gorgeous. Finally she dove off the dock, breaking the spell over you and the men in the water.

Loki had spoken once about the way the moonlight touched your body, but Issa didn’t need the moon. She was starlight.

Loki still would not loosen his grip on you, so although you wanted to pull away, you could only cross your arms in front of yourself. Issa did not look your way again. She didn’t need to. Her point had been made.

***

Back in the palace, before a crackling fire, you started to peel off your clothes, but stopped. How could you bare yourself with the memory of the exquisite princess still fresh in your mind? Loki had convinced you of his loyalty, but even that could not soothe the sting of knowing what he could not have.

“You are brooding,” he observed with his fingers hooked in the waistband of his trousers. He had shucked his shirt easily. 

“I suppose you would know brooding.” It was pointless to try to hide it: you might as well try to make light of it.

He did not laugh, nor did he approach you. “What is it? You should know better than to allow Issa’s words to bother you.”

You couldn’t help it. “It is not her words that trouble me,” you muttered. When he did not respond, you looked up at him. “She is perfection, my lord.”

“And?”

“And...I am a girl from the village. My whole body speaks of hard labor. I am not fit to--”

“Take off your clothes.” His tone was dangerous: that low flat sound that came before his storms. “You are trembling and I will not have that. Remove them.”

There was no room for argument. In truth, you wanted the clothing off anyway--just not, perhaps, in front of the prince at this very moment. But you did as he said, then moved to cover yourself as best as you could. His eyes did not stray from your face to rake along your nakedness, and you were not sure whether you were relieved or disappointed.

“Now come to me.” He stood near a mirror that ran from floor to ceiling against one wall. Most of the time you did your best to ignore it. He stood perfectly still, waiting.

“I’m sorry.” You were not sure why you were apologizing: the words rose unbidden. All you knew was that you did not want to go stand before that mirror.

“I am not angry, darling. Come here.” He lifted his arms slightly in invitation, but your feet were rooted to the ground. All you could do was stand there, shivering in the cool air and just out of reach of the majority of the fire’s heat. Your mind was reeling. Surely there was something else you could offer him, some way to distract him. But you weren’t moving fast enough: when he spoke again, there was an edge in his voice. “Do you know me to be a patient man?”

“Please…” You would rather have been anywhere else, even swimming with Thor and the warriors. But you could feel your resolve crumbling as the prince stared blankly at you. No, he was not patient, and he was not going to give this up. You took a few hesitant steps toward him. When you were finally standing before him, carefully avoiding the mirror, you looked up at his face. It was still blank.

He moved quickly, spinning you around and pulling your back tightly against his chest. One hand gripped your chin and forced you to look straight ahead at the mirror; the other held tightly to your hip. Loki’s eyes sought yours, and you looked back at him: anything to avoid looking at yourself. This was horrifying.

“I have tried forbidding you from speaking that way, but I see that has done nothing.” He loosened his grasp on your hip.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, desperate for this to be over. “I won’t do it again. The fire, Loki--”

He pressed his lips to your neck and shushed you, the air hot against your skin. “You do not need my forgiveness.” 

His hand trailed along your skin, falling into a gentle pattern. He swept his fingertips over your hipbone and up the curve of your waist along your ribcage. He touched the places where your father’s boot had repeatedly connected with your skin, the places where bone fractured and then knitted together and then fractured again. His touch glided down to the tops of your thighs, where thorns and branches had carved into your skin during those spare moments of freedom during your childhood. He caressed the faded, barely-there scars of cuts and burns you had gotten when you were just learning to cook for your family, and his fingertips danced across the palms of your hands. They had once been rough and calloused, you realized, but were now beginning to soften in your relative idleness. 

“Where is the hard labor of which you speak?” he murmured into your ear. “I see only the perfect story of my lady, imprinted upon perfect skin.”

“Loki…” You meant to ask him to stop, but goosebumps and pleasant chills were following in the wake of his fingers. He splayed his fingers out across your belly and held you there for a moment, long enough for the coolness of his skin to sink into yours.

“I see a body that perfectly contains my lady. My companion. My darling.” He pressed his fingers to your lips and then delved inside, working them in and out of your lips. You blushed, the heat suffusing your skin all the way to the tops of your breasts. “I see a body that is perfectly suited for granting pleasure…” He withdrew his fingers from your mouth and swept them down your body, stopping once to tweak one of your nipples before coming to rest at the spot where your thighs met. His knee pressed between your legs to part them, and his fingers slid down to touch you. Your whole body jerked against him, but his hand on your chin held you fast. “...and receiving it.”

“No…” But your voice was whiny, with very little force behind it. What had you become, that you were not protesting this more vehemently? Did it have to happen here? 

Loki shushed you again and sank his teeth carefully into the tender flesh of your neck. His fingers worked slowly inside you, twisting and pushing in that maddening rhythm he had. His thumb circled you knowingly. “Do not close your eyes.” His voice was a warning. “Do not look away. See what you allow me to see, how magnificent you are.”

“I can’t…” His eyes met yours in the mirror once again. They held you fast. A smile spread across his face.

“You can. Touch your breasts--touch them like I would. Touch them as you would have me touch you.” His face was hungry. His fingers still held your chin--too tightly, as though he were fighting the temptation to move them elsewhere.

People didn’t do this. People certainly didn’t do this standing in front of a mirror and staring at themselves. But you did as he asked. Your hands came up to cup your breast softly, awkwardly. Spurred on by his quiet growl, you rolled your nipples between your thumbs and index fingers, coaxing them to attention. As your movements came faster and became more certain, so did his. Soon you were watching your chest heave and your hips rock forward to meet his hand. He growled again. The sound was intoxicating.

He released your chin and slipped his arm around your midsection to hold you more tightly against him. Your eyes were drawn to the reflection of his arm. It was fascinating, the way his muscles moved beneath his skin. The feeling was familiar by now: you knew what it felt like when he touched you. The sight was something new and hypnotizing.

“Eyes on yourself,” Loki whispered. The hand that was around your midsection came up to press your hand more firmly around your breast. “You can see me any day. I want you to watch yourself.”

Your body shuddered against his. If he brought you to climax, how would you hold yourself up? Your afternoon of riding had taken its toll on you, and you felt weak and unsteady. You started to turn your face away, but caught yourself in time. He rewarded you with a growl of approval and an increased speed between your legs.

Climax was fast-approaching. You dug your nails into his skin in hopes of finding support. “I can’t…” The words came unbidden, ripping from your throat even as you forced yourself to keep looking at...yourself. Loki was rasping encouragement in your ear. When it hit, it hit you hard. If Loki had not been behind you and supporting your weight as your legs went weak, you would certainly have wound up on the floor. He let you ride it out but kept his eyes locked on yours in the glass. 

When you finally had to push his hand away, he kissed the side of your neck: a tender spot that was surely a bruise. “There's my girl.” He smoothed your hair and gradually loosened his hold on you until you were standing on your own. There was no small trace of pride in his voice. 

You did not respond. What was there to say? He kept holding onto you, though not as tightly. One hand ghosted along your side, his fingers leaving a ticklish trail of goosebumps in their wake. He was watching you in the mirror with hooded eyes, and it made you shiver. How could that possibly seem even more intimate than what he’d just done?

He closed his hands around your hips and pulled you flush against him. There was no denying his arousal. His gaze held yours even as he rutted himself against you, pressing firmly and insistently to your back. Your heart thudded in your chest. You had done that to him. Just as you’d done it this morning: without touching him or even speaking to him. Just by enjoying his touch. You mumbled his name and could not keep yourself from arching backwards into his body.

“Do you see what you do to me?” he whispered. “How can you doubt your own perfection?”

But your tongue felt locked against the roof of your mouth. Rather than speaking, you reached behind you to take him in your hand and squeezed gently. Even at a distance, and reflected in the glass his reaction was unmistakable. His eyes narrowed but stayed fixed on you while he thrust into your hand.

“Shall I take you here?” One hand came up to your shoulder as though to bend you forward. Your stomach tightened but you spun yourself around to face him. It was a relief to finally look away from the mirror, but now there was no buffer between you and the heat of his stare. You put your arms up around his neck and pulled him down to kiss you.

The moment your lips met, he took charge again, walking you backwards until you felt the cool shock of the mirror’s surface at your back. He kissed you as though he were starving for you. His hands were everywhere: tugging your hair, gripping the sides of your face, digging into your thigh as he hitched your leg up around his hip. His desperation kindled a fire within you that had, until now, been dampened by the strangeness of the mirror. 

Your own hunger surprised you. The roughness of his trousers against the inside of your thigh, against your center, spurred you onwards, and you reached between your bodies again to free him of his clothing. He pulled back just long enough to kick the trousers away and growl his approval before his lips slanted over yours again.

He hitched your leg just a little bit higher and slid easily inside you. You cried out, a surprised mewl which he swallowed immediately. The encounter this morning had been sweet and unhurried, but this was frenetic and determined. You were forced to raise yourself up onto the ball of your foot as he drove himself deep inside you. You had to sink your nails into his flesh to keep your tenuous hold on him--and your balance. Neither thoughts nor words formed in your mind: your sounds were shapeless and practically inhuman, but neither of you were truly hearing them. Your muscles burned, but the pain only added a sweet aching pull to the sensations that were washing over you.

“Again,” Loki snarled, but your muddled brain could not understand what he meant. He reached down to tug, tweak, pinch. He was not being gentle, but your protests softened into a drawn-out, desperate cry as he drew yet another orgasm from your aching body. You threw your head back and he latched immediately onto your newly-exposed neck, sucking as though he could draw sustenance from your very skin.

His name was the only word you could manage. Your fingers twisted in his hair, caught between the desire to pull him away and to hold him close. He was still touching you. Your pleasured groans were just becoming whimpers when his body shuddered violently. Just a few more strokes, rough and uneven, and then he began to still. 

Neither of you spoke for what felt like forever. You were too busy panting and grasping at one another for support. Finally he guided your leg gently back to the floor and pulled you away from the wall. Your legs were trembling, which made you laugh nervously.

“I intended to be the one to please you, my lord.” Your throat felt ragged. How loud had you been? Had anyone heard you? The thought was mortifying, and yet you could not find it within yourself to actually be embarrassed.

Loki smiled and raised your hand to his lips. “Oh, but you were. You do that constantly.”

“You know what I meant, Loki.” He could tease you all he liked, but there was still a guilt beginning to gnaw at you. What if he began to feel that you were not doing your share, as it were?

“I’ve bruised you.” He sounded far away. He pressed against the side of your neck, that tender spot from before, and you winced. “Right here for all to see.” There was no guilt in his voice--in fact, he sounded...proud. You could not decide how you felt about that. What could anyone say about it? Loki--or even just the threat of Loki--would silence anyone who offered you insult. Issa could see it--if she deigned to look at you--and she seemed smart enough to know exactly where it had come from.

“Eir will have something to heal it,” he said, studying your face. He would have seen every emotion flit across it. “Or will you...wear my mark?”

You could not shake the feeling that his question ran deeper than a bruise. You ran your fingertips along the half-moon shaped cuts in the prince’s shoulders. These were your marks. What had he called them? Welcome battle wounds.

“I will wear it,” you said decisively. (Perhaps more decisively than you truly felt.) “And gladly. If you will wear mine.”

“What, bargaining with a prince?” Loki smirked at you and pulled you over to the rug before the fire. You sank down into its softness without being invited to do so. The relief in your legs was so great that you sighed. Loki draped something--a blanket from the bed--around your shoulders. “It is an honor to bear them. They announce to anyone who looks upon them that I belong, body and soul, to my lady.”

“Where did you learn to speak so?” Addressing the way he spoke was safer than addressing the words he spoke. They caused too large a swell of hope inside you, despite his laughing tone. It was not safe.

He chuckled and settled himself beside you. “A prince must have a certain way with words. So often we are called upon to reason things out and resolve disputes among villagers.”

Imagining Loki playing the gentle peacemaker made you feel like laughing. “You seem more the type to lose your temper and slay both parties, my lord.”

“My lady wounds me.” But he did not sound overly offended, and when he looked at you, his eyes danced in the firelight. “My mother had high hopes for me when I was a child.”

The two of you lapsed into a drowsy silence. It should have seemed so strange that you could go from clawing at each other and gasping with pleasure to sitting quietly--and nakedly--before a fire. Perhaps it was because you had grown so accustomed to Loki’s sudden shifts in mood, but the situation struck you as almost normal. You stole a glance at him, only to discover that he was already looking at you. If only you could control the color in your cheeks. Maybe then you’d be able to stop blushing so often.

To make matters worse, your stomach rumbled loudly, and interrupted the silence. Rather than teasing you for it, however, Loki drew his eyebrows together with concern.

“You have not eaten since this morning,” he said with dawning realization. “Riding can be an arduous task for even a well-trained soldier, and then I whisked you away immediately afterwards.” His voice was angry, but he reached out to touch your cheek with a gentleness that told you the anger was not for you.

“Do not worry yourself, Loki. Dinner is not so far away now. I have gone much longer between meals. I will not waste away.”

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because a stormcloud passed across the prince’s face. He stood and worked his feet into his trousers. “This is not your father’s hovel in your filthy village,” he snapped. “Those who reside in the palace have no need to go so long between meals. Stay here. I will find someone.”

And then he left, sparing only a moment to press a kiss to your forehead. After he disappeared out the door, you stood as well, and went to wash yourself. Between the morning spent riding and the afternoon spent...otherwise engaged, your skin felt downright grimy with dirt and sweat. You filled the tub (and, after a moment’s hesitation, a few drops of the oil that smelled like the white flowers from the garden) and slipped beneath the water. You could not help but sigh happily. The heat soothed your aching muscles and made you feel more like yourself again. You rubbed at your skin with arms made lazy with relaxation and, when you felt clean again, you rested your head against the edge of the tub.

Even after living in the palace for all this time, it felt strange to do something so luxurious, especially in the middle of the day. But it was wonderful all the same.

Something--a tiny noise, perhaps, or some other prickle of your senses--made you open your eyes, and all your peaceful relaxation vanished. Someone was in the room with you. they had somehow entered the room and sat themselves upon a stool not far from where you rested. You splashed quite a bit of water over the edge and onto the floor in your haste to cover yourself, though you could not decide whether to remain in the water or get out and try to run away.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, I cannot tell you how much you all mean to me.

“Did I startle you?” The figure rose. To your embarrassment, you realized (much too late) that it was only Loki. He grinned as he approached you: he already knew the answer to his question. When he reached your side, he knelt before you could warn him about the water that you'd splashed onto the floor. “I did not intend to. I meant only to come to tell you that there is food waiting for you, but you bewitched me again.”

“My lord?” Your heart had no reason to still beat so rapidly, except that the prince was looking at you with such intensity.

“You looked so serene that I could not bear to interrupt. Instead I sat myself quietly over there to watch you. “He flashed another grin. “Had I know you would be so alarmed, I might have made my presence known anyway.”

“I was not alarmed,” you said, despite the evidence to the contrary that surrounded you. He did not refute your words, only smiled and stood.

“I shall leave you to your bath. You mustn’t hurry.”

When he left you alone, you tried to close your eyes again. A part of you wanted to dry and dress quickly, so as not to keep the prince waiting, but you were loath to give up the delicious comforting warmth of the water. And he _had_ said not to hurry...

Eventually, the water began to cool so, reluctantly, you stood and dried yourself off. Now you had a dilemma: the only clothing you had in the room was the clothing you had gone riding in. In the village, you would not have thought twice about wearing it again, but your skin felt so soft and so clean that the thought was unpleasant. For now, you just wrapped the towel around your body and went out to join the prince. 

He was leaning against the windowsill, looking out at the courtyard. You could not see much of his face, but took a private moment to admire his body. Normally he was so like a large predator ready to pounce, with muscles wound tightly--everything in sharp focus. Today, while his shoulders were still held straight in that regal posture, the rest of his body was relaxed. He did not seem surprised when you went to him and slid your arms around his waist.

“I had hoped that it might be my turn to startle you, my lord,” you mumbled against his shoulder. “But it would appear that my prince is always on the alert.”

“Surely you do not begrudge me my senses. They keep me alive for you.” His voice was low. It made you feel the intimacy of the moment all the more keenly. This was a space meant only for the two of you. You did not bother to fight the smile that curled your lips. 

“I do prefer you alive.” You buried your face against his back, breathing him in and listening to the faint muffled sound of his heartbeat.

He turned around in your arms and placed his hands upon your shoulders. His thumbs brushed downwards, then up again, skimming over your collarbones. Pleasant goosebumps erupted along your arms and you closed your eyes at the sensation.

“My lady.” His voice was low again. You opened your eyes, but he only repeated the same words. “My lady.” He was savoring them. Taking pleasure in the way it felt to speak them and the way they rolled across his tongue. You felt another pleasant chill, though this one had nothing to do with his fingers.

“My Loki.” He smiled--at your words, perhaps, or else at some other private thought.

“There is fruit waiting for you, there before the fire.” He gestured vaguely with one hand but did not move the other from your shoulder. You felt similarly disinclined to step away from him. Truly you could wait until the two of you joined the rest of the palace in the great hall, so long as you could stand here in this intimate stillness with him. 

But then, just as it had before, your stomach growled, and made you curse the silence. Without looking at him, you went over to settle yourself before the fire and inspect the food that had been brought to you. Some of the fruits were familiar, but most of them were strange, with odd rinds and seemingly unnatural colors. You let your fingers hover over one particularly-interesting fruit but did not touch it. Loki was watching. He would see you fumble, would watch as you bit when you were supposed to peel or the other way around. No, he would not ridicule you for it, and, no, he was not likely to think any less of you for it, but you closed your fingers around a much more common piece anyway. Your pride--that silly, pointless, village-girl pride--demanded it.

As you sank your teeth into the familiar flesh, Loki sat and picked up the strange fruit. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he tore it open with his fingers. A deep, purple-red juice spilled out and dripped down his fingers to his wrist. Without pretense--he barely even seemed to notice that you were watching him--he dragged his tongue along his own pale skin to clear away the juice. He held one half of the fruit in each hand now, and what looked like hundreds of tiny gems glittered in each one. 

You turned your head to watch him more closely, no longer caring about how unlearned or ridiculous you looked, and watched as he lifted one half to his mouth. He ripped out a few of the gems with his teeth and chewed slowly, exquisitely. His eyes were closed, but he held out the other half to you without looking. You allowed yourself a brief moment of hesitation before your gratitude won out, and you accepted it. 

You followed his lead, and raised the pebbled flesh to your mouth, scraping off a bit with your teeth. It was delicious, tart and sweet and flowing like nectar over your tongue. You chewed just as slowly and reverently as Loki had, and kept your eyes closed even after you had swallowed. Strangely enough, the taste of the fruit--of riches and long journeys from distant places--soothed your pride. You did not feel as uncultured for never having encountered such a thing. It was beyond your home. Perhaps no one there had ever had anything like this before.

When you opened your eyes again, Loki’s were fixed on you with a startling intensity, but he merely smiled and leaned back again. “I do not blame you for passing over this one. It is delicious, but so very messy.” 

You looked down at your hand, where a tiny rivulet of juice had dripped down your fingers, down your wrist. Before you could wipe it away with the towel that still covered your body, Loki wrapped his fingers around your arm and pulled it to his mouth. You caught his eyes as he did. Mistake. He grinned wickedly before that tongue darted out to drag along your skin. Neither of you looked away, not even when he took one of your fingers into his mouth and sucked gently, wrapping his tongue around the very tip. There was a buzzing in your ears. 

All too soon—or else just in time—he let your finger slip out of his mouth with a soft 'pop' and stood up. “My lady, if you've had your fill, I think we should find you some clothing.” He extended a hand to help you to your feet. “I think you look perfectly ravishing dressed like this, but I have a suspicion that you might not agree.”

You clasped your free hand around the top of the towel and tried to ignore the burning in your cheeks. “But what if it should fall while we're dancing, my lord? The whole of the palace would be able to look upon me.” You shuddered and, without really thinking about it, stepped closer to him to hide against his body. If he was surprised, he did not show it. He just wrapped his arms tightly around you. You thought you felt him laugh, but when he spoke, his voice was somber.

“We can't have that,” he said. “Come with me.”

He led you to one of the tapestries hanging on the wall, and pushed it aside. Behind it was a small panel in the wall, barely noticeable. Countless questions rose to your lips, but you didn't have time to pose any of them before the prince had pushed the door open and pulled you inside. The corridor was spacious, but dimly-lit, and soon you came upon a door. Loki pulled you closer and placed your hand on the knob, and then nudged you forward.

“Go on, open it.” His breath was hot against your ear. Surely the weakness in your knees was the result of your riding lessons and your other...exertions this afternoon, and nothing more. 

“What is this place?” You had never been here before. The rest of the corridors in the palace were much more brightly-lit, and there always seemed to be a servant around some corner somewhere. There were a few doors along the walls, but you did not sense anyone else nearby.

“These are my rooms. This entire wing of the palace belongs to me. Did you think I had but one room, in a palace so spacious? I may not be the heir to the throne, but that does not mean I should live like a guest here.” 

You had never given much thought to how much space the prince had in the palace. How much space could he possibly need? “What are the rooms beyond these doors?” You wriggled out of his arms to indicate the other doors in the corridor. “You truly could have a whole harem of women here, couldn't you?” But you offered a gentle smile, lest he think you serious. 

He rolled his eyes and crossed the hall to open one of the other doors. “The rooms are all empty save for the one in front of you. There is a study and a sitting room and a nursery, from when I was an infant. I think this one was meant to be a servant's quarters, but in order to make proper use of a servant's quarters, one must have a servant who is not too frightened to serve.” You peered past him into the bare but spacious room. There was a bed, a small wood-burning stove, and a simple tapestry hung on the wall, but nobody inside. 

“You could not command someone to serve you?” You could not blame the servants for being intimidated or even frightened by the prince, but...was that not what they were in the palace for?

“I would rather dress myself than watch some child tremble and whimper in my presence,” Loki said as he pulled the door closed. “Darling, don't look at me that way. This is how it's always been.” He came back to your side and gave you another gentle nudge. “You are stalling.”

He was right. You turned the knob and opened the door, not entirely sure what to expect.

The room was not as large as the prince's room, but it was close. It was not a room for sleeping, though: the shelves and racks and mirrors and bureaus made it clear that it was a closet. Imagine that: a room large enough to house a family, used merely to store clothing.

You looked over your shoulder at Loki, who was still watching you. “It's yours,” he said. “All of it. Mother thought you might be more comfortable if you were able to choose your own clothing.”

It became a question of which thought was easier to address: that the Queen had spent much time at all thinking about what might make you more comfortable, or that you now had all this. There were racks of gowns all along the walls, with racks full of shoes running beneath them. All around you were bureaus and chests full of who knew what kind of clothing. 

Much of the clothing was, of course, green. Gowns of moss and jade and emerald and sage peeked out at you from the racks, but there were other colors as well. Here and there your eyes caught pearl-white and soft blue and even a delicate pink. There seemed to be more here than you could possibly wear in a lifetime.

“I do not believe I have ever seen a lady look so horrified at a closet so full of fineries,” Loki whispered in your ear. You jumped at the sudden closeness, but leaned against him for support as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind.

“It is not horror, my lord, but...awe. I could wear a different dress every day for the rest of my life and I do not believe I would be able to wear all of these.”

“If that is what you wish, then that can be arranged.” He tugged lightly on the towel and allowed it to drop to the floor. “What would you like to wear tonight? Silver like the moonlight? Green to match your prince? Or pink to go with the color that so fetchingly rises into your cheeks?” He lifted one arm to sweep it in front of you, indicating the vast array of choices available to you as though you had somehow forgotten. 

You broke out of your stupor to approach one of the racks. Your fingers alighted on a simple green dress with golden silk peeking from the folds of the skirt and the sleeves. “This,” you said, your voice hushed as you slid it from its hanger. You put it on, and, without being asked, Loki moved to help you tie it in the back. He traced the strings with his fingertip, and you just barely felt the whisper of his skin against your back.

“There is more besides,” he murmured, and led you to a dressing-table. It was hard not to laugh as you caught the sight of your reflection in the mirror: clad in an elegant gown with your wet hair falling around your shoulders. You sat at the bench and he opened one of the little drawers before you to remove a necklace. “This is yours as well.”

He held it up for you to examine, and you caught your breath. An emerald teardrop hung from a golden chain. The way the gem caught the flickering light of the room made it appear bottomless and swirling with magic. Delicate tendrils of pinkish gold wrapped around the side of the gem and up the chain like vines from the garden. It was beautiful, and you found yourself frozen again.

Loki moved behind you to fasten the necklace around your neck, but before he could, you jerked to your feet. “I can't. You can't.” You caught a glimpse of his stricken expression in the mirror as you turned, but when you faced him, his face was coolly neutral.

“Do you not like it? Would you prefer something different?” He was still holding the necklace aloft. You wanted to take it from him, but you could not bring yourself to put your hands on it. You could not put into words just why you felt so frightened by that necklace—at least not without angering him.

“No, my lord. It is beautiful, but how could I possibly wear it? I've never worn anything so beautiful. How could...? What if I broke it? Or lost it?” Your protests were weak: Loki would see through them immediately. 

His smile was just barely tolerant. “It is very finely crafted, dear heart. I don't think you could break it even if you tried.” He took a step forward, lifting the piece a bit as though to place it on you anyway. You backed away from him, and right into the dressing table. Several crystal bottles clattered and you heard one roll along the table and fall to the ground. His eyes narrowed.

“Loki, no. I'm sorry, it's just—I will wear these beautiful gowns and try to be your beautiful lady, but these things, they're...they're not meant for me. I would not be comfortable wearing that. It is too much.” He opened his mouth, likely to protest or else threaten something like the mirror again, but you lifted one hand in the air to stop him. “Please.”

The last traces of his smile disappeared. “It is a necklace, not a noose. No need to plead with me as though I were your executioner.” He lowered his hands for the briefest of moments, and then, with one quick motion, flung the necklace at the mirror on the table. The sound made you jump. 

You couldn't look at him, and instead twisted your hands in the skirt of your dress. “Loki, I...”

“There is no need to explain yourself.” His voice was that dangerous purr that sent chills along your spine. He reached to press a cool finger against your neck, and the sudden twinge told you he had found the bruise he'd left earlier. “My lady wears my mark. Why should I care whether she also wears my gift?” 

But he still sounded insulted. Despite every deeply-instilled instinct you had to run from an angry man, you threw your arms around his neck to pull him close. “This is not about your gift, my lord. This is not about you.” You had to lower your voice to a whisper, not trusting it to remain steady. “You have seen the scars I bear. They speak of violence, do they not?”

Realization was dawning. He slid his arms around your back and drew a breath as though to speak, but you rushed on. You were afraid of what he might say.

“Every scar comes from somewhere, Loki. Most of mine came from a man who made sure I knew that was nothing.” You buried your face in his shoulder. You hated that you were telling him all this, but then again, it was foolish to have thought that this place could be some fresh start. There could be no fresh starts, not with your past holding you captive the way it did. “I know you are not a patient man, but patience is what I need. I need you to try.”

He did not speak for a long time. His arms were locked around you in a crushing grip, but he did not seem as angry. 

“I will try,” he said at last. “First, I will send men to your village to set that beast straight, and then I will try. For you.”

“No.” You pulled back. “Leave him. He is a bitter old drunk. What more can your men do to him that he hasn't already done to himself?” Beast or not, he was still your father. You did not much care for the man, especially now that you didn't need to live with him anymore, but how could you look at Loki if he...did something to him?

“They can repay every scar. Tenfold.” One hand found its way into your hair, and he dragged his fingers through your damp tangles. 

“Don't do that. Don't become him.” You groped blindly at the table behind you, searching for the necklace. “I will wear the jewels tonight. Okay? I will wear them. Just...forget about him. I am here now. Is that not enough?” Finally your fingers closed around the damned necklace. Its weight surprised you, but you fumbled with the clasp regardless.

Loki shook his head. He cupped your face in his palms and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Do not wear it to appease me.” He took the necklace from you and replaced it gently in the drawer behind you. “Wear it when you believe yourself worthy. No sooner.”

You collapsed onto the bench. “Thank you, my lord. I'm sorry.” If he had known, the night of the ball, where his rash choice would lead him, would he still have chosen you? As though he'd read your thoughts, he sank down before you and closed his hands around yours.

“Am I your lord? I thought I was your Loki.” He was watching you carefully, his expression tender. “You have no need to fear me, darling. I shall leave the beast you call your father to his squalor, if you shall place your trust in me. The past is the past. We must not let it effect the future.” He grinned, a strange but hopeful expression, and you could not help but laugh. Every moment with him was a tempest, but you had long since grown to enjoy it.

“Is it not exhausting to be you?” You smoothed your hand along his cheek. 

“No more exhausting than it is to love a woman as stubborn as you.”

“I'm not—” It took a moment for your brain to actually process what he'd said, and when it did, your jaw dropped. “What did you say?” You were gaping at him now, but you couldn't help it. There was no mistaking his words this time. There was no trying to convince yourself that he'd meant something completely different. He'd spoken clearly and plainly, and was staring at you with open honesty in his face.

He turned his head to press a kiss to your palm. “You heard me the first time, but I will indulge you. Quite simply, I told you that I love you.” He rose to his feet and pulled you up with him. “This cannot come as a surprise to you. I thought you knew.”

The burning in your eyes was a warning, and you threw yourself into his arms so you could hide your face against his neck again. These tears were silly, but you could not stem the flow. “I'd hoped, but I didn't want to...” You sniffled despite yourself.

“Tears?” Loki put his hands on your shoulders to push you just far enough away to look at you. He sighed, but a quick peek was enough to reveal that he was still smiling at you. “That's hardly the reaction I'd hoped for.” You would have rubbed your eyes to dry them, but he pressed a soft kiss to each of your eyelids.

“Forgive me. I'm sorry.” You could not decide whether to laugh or cry. “It's just a lot—” 

“What did you think I meant when I told you that you have my heart? Is that not what you meant when you told me the same?” He brushed at your cheeks with his thumbs. Slowly the tears in your eyes were beginning to dry.

“That is precisely what I meant, Loki. I meant it more than anything.” You traced his cheekbones with your fingertips. This felt like a dream. Loki's eyes were fixed on you as though you were the most important thing in the room. He was not teasing you for being so overwhelmed. He was not pressing you to speak. He was just watching you with that rapt expression on his face. “But I was sure that you couldn't possibly mean it that way. I did not want to get my hopes up and then look foolish.”

He gripped your face more tightly for a moment, but then, in an instant, swept you up into his arms and swung you around. You clung tightly to him, and if you happened to let out a squeal, then at least no one could hear you, deep in Loki's wing of the palace. When Loki finally put you down again, he covered your mouth with his. His kiss was burning, imbued as it was with the newness of the night's confessions. You did not loosen your grip, and you kissed him back fiercely. 

“I could have you here and now,” he growled against your mouth when at last he broke the kiss. “I would make it so that you will never doubt me again.” 

“Again?” Your voice was an undignified squeak. You pressed against his chest to distance yourself. “My lord, I am barely recovered as it is.” 

He sighed and smoothed your hair. “Another time, then.”

“Another time,” you agreed. You did not feel overly inclined to ignore the little thrill of anticipation that ran through your body.

***

On the way to dinner, Loki stopped and, without warning, pulled you into a darkened alcove. He did not speak as he slid his body against yours, only grinned and drew his lips along your cheekbone. His breath was hot against your ear, and his voice was dark and rich as he whispered: “I love you.”

The shivers came unbidden. It was all you could do to cling to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and try not to slide to the floor. It was not just the words themselves, though you had certainly never truly expected to hear them spoken aloud to you. It was the way he said them, so solidly and certainly. There was no questioning them. Loki was absolutely convinced of their truthfulness, and that conviction came through even in his whisper. Heat rose into your cheeks.

Your reaction must have pleased the prince, because he spoke the words again--”I love you,” and drew your earlobe between his teeth. You were grateful not only for the darkness, but also for the prince's nearness, because you were able to hide your burning face in his shoulder. You could feel the laughter rising in his chest before he chuckled against your ear. “I do prefer that reaction over your tears.”

“We'll be late,” you warned, pushing half-heartedly against his chest. 

“Let them wait.” But he did step away and allow you to slip past him back into the corridor. You turned and watched him emerge from the shadows, but hurried away from him before he could catch you in his arms again. The two of you continued like that--chasing and evading--until you finally burst through the doors to the grand hall. The sound was lost in the din of the crowd, so very few heads turned towards you.

Issa was sitting in your seat again. Rather, she was sitting in the seat which, until recently, you had assumed to be yours. None other at the table seemed bothered by her presence there. Perhaps it had been her seat until your arrival. Regardless, you paused. What should you do?

"For years she's had eyes only for Thor," Loki whispered to you. "I suspect her parents are pushing her to marry, and she thinks I would be an easy husband to rule."

You giggled before you could stop yourself. "Even she could not be so foolish, could she?"

He smiled tolerantly, though there was an edge of brittleness to the expression. You reached for his hand, but he was already sauntering towards the table. You followed, watching with growing unease as he leaned down to whisper into Issa's ear. She didn't even flinch--it was as though she'd already known Loki was so near--and a sly smile flickered across her face. She sad something to him, but he barely gave any indication that he'd heard her. He only stood there, his face carefully neutral as he waited. Because he _was_ waiting.

Issa found you in the crowd, her ice-blue eyes fixing on you immediately. In the past, you might have wilted under that baleful gaze. Tonight you found the strength to square your shoulders and step forward.

"Th--" Your voice cracked, but you pressed on regardless. "The prince is waiting." 

You did not look at him, but you could feel his look of surprised approval. "Indeed. Don't make a scene, princess. There is a perfectly good seat there beside the lady Sif."

"Then why not let the village-girl sit there?" There was venom in the princess's voice, but her power over you had disappeared. 

"Because my lady's place is beside me. Come, Issa. People are beginning to stare." Loki was speaking in that low, purring voice. The calm before the storm. But surely he would not lose his temper here, surrounded as he was by family, soldiers, and the nobility.

Thankfully, he did not have to. After a long moment of deliberation, Issa finally stood. She retreated without a word, and you watched her go. Perhaps you should have felt more uncomfortable, or guilty, but all you felt as Loki pulled out your chair and gestured for you to sit was peace.

Some of the ladies were looking at you with wide eyes, but you pretended not to notice, throwing yourself instead into the conversation between the two nearest--Alia and Idunn, if you remembered correctly. As you listened, a cool hand found yours beneath the table. You could not help but smile. 

"You look well, my lady," Alia said. She'd interrupted Idunn to do it, but the other woman took to the new subject graciously.

"You are glowing with a light from within." Idunn leaned forward across the table and lowered her voice as though you shared some conspiracy between the two of you. "Is there to be a child?"

"Most certainly not!" Your response was louder than you'd intended for it to be. At least no one had turned to look at you. You lowered your voice and leaned forward as well. "No. There are no children. I spent the day learning to ride. It must have been the fresh air." Your smile was weak, but the ladies seemed convinced, at least. Idunn sank back into her seat. 

"'Tis a pity, my lady. A child is a great blessing indeed."

You said nothing. She meant well, after all, and how was she to know how you felt about children? It was hardly appropriate conversation for a relative stranger. The ladies exchanged a look, but, thankfully, Alia steered the conversation to new topics. You looked over at Loki. Had he heard? What would he say if he had? But thankfully, he looked utterly engaged in whatever conversation he was having with Thor and the other men around him. 

It was a daft idea. He probably would not even notice. Still, you eased your hand out of his and turned it over on your lap. You pretended to be listening to the ladies' conversation (they seemed to be discussing one of the visiting lords), but most of your attention was focused on the prince's hand. Moving slowly, in hopes that he might pick up on your task, you traced the words out against his skin, letter by letter. I. L. O. V. E. Y. O. U.

He noticed. Partway through your task, his hand twitched against your leg. By the time you finished and ventured a glance at him, he was grinning so widely that he had trouble speaking. When he felt you looking at him, he turned towards you and swallowed up your hand with his. 

"Is my lady feeling neglected already?" he purred against your ear. You looked at him with your most innocent face.

"I am afraid my lord's words confuse me. What do you mean, sire?"

"Oh, it is dangerous to try to trick a trickster, darling. Never forget that." But there was no threat in his voice, only mirth. He raised your hand to his lips to press the lightest of kisses against your knuckles. 

Issa was staring daggers in your direction. Not surprising. Even the courage that surged through you didn't surprise you; you raised your eyes and held her gaze. Regardless of where you had begun your life, it had led you here, to this very spot in this very palace, and what could Issa, who did not necessarily belong here any more than you did, hope to do about it? Loki's long fingers drummed against your kneecap, offering strength whether he knew your struggle or not. Issa was the first to look away, with narrowed eyes and a visible sigh of annoyance.

You allowed yourself a short-lived moment of victory before turning your attention back to the ladies. Many of them were fluttering and giggling about that same visiting lord. They put you in mind of the girls in your village, and the way they would whisper to each other and eye the boys. It was especially bad during town festivals, when so many people dressed in their finest and celebrated various holidays. It wasn't that you were above the rest of the girls--or the ladies at the table--you'd just never had anyone to giggle and whisper with. Even now, the ladies seemed to be acknowledging you without including you. It would be unseemly for you to giggle about some strange man while sitting beside the man it seemed the whole palace expected you to marry. His hand was still resting upon your knee. You reached for it absently. 

It was for the best, in any case. Whispering about boys had never held much allure for you. You'd spent too much time looking after them already.

Gradually, the diners finished eating, and the floor filled with dancers as always. Snippets of the prince's conversation drifted towards you: he was recounting his fruitless trek to the gates this morning. Thor did not look overly pleased at the laughter that spread through the listeners when Loki revealed that the crisis had been one straggly she-wolf, but the irritation passed quickly over his face. 

"Better to be overly prepared for battle one hundred times than be caught unaware just once," he said, and his audience nodded. For the second time that day, you remembered the silence at the gates and wondered if the wolf had truly been the only problem. 

Before you could sink much farther into your worries, Eir appeared in the seat beside you. You jumped, but, gracious as ever, she did not let on that she'd noticed. “I have heard from Aurok that you are a quick study,” she said. The richness of her voice reached your ears effortlessly, even over the din of the crowd. She truly was magical.

“I'm afraid he was just being kind,” you replied. “I was able to mount a horse and stay seated upon his back for the whole journey, but there's not much else to say about my abilities as a rider.” The knowledge that he spoke to Eir was troubling, however: did she go to the stables to ride, or to heal him? “Is he well?”

Another person might have laughed at you for your obvious concern, but Eir accepted it with a slight nod of her head. “He is more than well, my lady. The boy thrives on fresh air and his love for the horses.” She stole a quick glance at the princes, who were still talking to each other, and pressed a glass bottle into your hand. “It's for your muscles. Learning to ride can be taxing, but if you rub this onto your skin, it will ease the soreness.” 

“Thank you.” You were touched. Eir was a healer, this much was true, but aching muscles was hardly something worth healing. You had seen her stitch a gaping, gory wound together, and still she concerned herself with anticipating something so minor. You had not even needed to ask her. “Truly, my lady...thank you.”

She laughed and rose from her seat, pulling you up with her. “You needn't look so astonished. I have studied this my whole life. Now will you come dance with me, or are you too stiff and creaky already?”

Although your legs were beginning to ache, they still followed your commands. You barely had time to place the bottle on the table before following her out into the crowd. You were dumbfounded. Eir seemed too dignified to dance, but there she was, holding tightly to your hands and swinging the two of you around the floor. Dancing with her was vastly different from dancing with Loki. Instead of practiced elegance, she was untamed and joyful—and her enthusiasm was catching. It did not matter whether you matched her grace or the ease with which she danced, because neither of you stayed in one place long enough for anyone to see you anyway. The music played on, whirling and ringing out as though the musicians didn't want you to have to stop either. Soon Eir was no longer pulling you around the dance floor: you were keeping up with her, laughing so hard you could not breathe and barely noticing anyone else in the room with you.

The song ended with a flourish, and Eir threw her hands up in the air with one last long laugh. When she quieted, she cupped your face in her palms and kissed your forehead. “Gentle, solemn princess, I shall miss you terribly.”

You were too surprised—both by her declaration and your own reaction to it—to correct her. “Miss me? Are you going away?” You grasped her hands, as though to keep her from fleeing right then and there. She laughed and moved off to the side, away from the rest of the dancers.

“I am low on supplies, and I've a home in a village of my own,” she said with a kind laugh. “I must take care of my people there. I leave tonight.” Still she cupped your cheeks, and tilted your face up so you had no other choice but to look into her eyes. Though dark, they were glimmering with the torchlight and exhilaration from your dance. “Don't look so sad. I do not live so very far away, and I visit often. You'll see. Just keep your prince from going out and getting himself killed.”

“I've already made him promise,” you answered. Your voice was low, but of course Eir heard you anyway. She lowered her hands to your shoulders.

“There, see? You shall be just fine without me. None other could extract such a promise from that boy.” 

Without thinking, you slid your arms around her waist and pulled her into an embrace. It was undignified, doing something like this in the middle of the grand hall while others danced around you and the music went on playing, but you did it anyway. Thankfully, she returned the embrace, and did not let go until you did. If there were tears in your eyes, it was only because you were so exhausted.

“I'll be back,” she promised again. “Ask your prince.”

“It's true. We'll never truly be rid of her.” You flinched when a set of arms wrapped themselves around your waist from behind, but only a moment later you realized it was Loki. You were grateful for the way he held you against him, the support he offered. A look passed between the two of them. You could not see Loki's face, but Eir's softened, and then became once again the calm dignified expression she had always worn. 

“Sleep well tonight, my lady,” she said with that familiar soft incline of her head directed at the both of you. “Until we meet again.”

You watched her go. She did not melt into the crowd. Instead, people parted for her as she made her way across the room and finally disappeared out the door. You believed that she would return again—you had no reason not to—but there was still a curious ache in your chest. 

“Would you like to dance with me now, or would you rather go to our quarters instead?” Loki was still behind you, and still holding you tightly. You reached up to comb your fingers through the hair that you knew would be falling into his face.

“It has been a very long day,” you sighed. Suddenly you felt as though you could not even keep yourself standing. You lowered your hand to grip Loki's wrist, lest he suddenly let you go. “If it's not too much trouble, can we please just...go to bed?”

“The day that I refuse to take my lady to bed is the day that I am beyond help from even your great Lady Eir,” Loki whispered. You smiled faintly even as he moved to stand beside you and offered you his arm. “Come, darling.”

***

You crawled into bed without even bothering to undress. Loki took a moment to secure the doors, and then you heard the soft rustling of his clothes dropping to the floor. But you did not open your eyes, not even when he placed something on the stand beside the bed and pulled back the blankets.

“Won't you be more comfortable if you undress?” His voice was low.

“'m so sleepy. In a few minutes I won't even know the difference.” He slipped his arms around you to help you into a sitting position. You tried to shrug him off, but he was persistent. 

“Do it for me, then. I'd rather not wake up tangled in your skirts. I can think of a dozen more pleasant ways to wake up with you.” He pulled your arms tight around his neck and raised you to your feet. As obvious as it was, your brain did not truly process what he was doing until you felt him undoing the ties at your back.

“I can do that,” you protested. You tried to step away, but he matched your steps and continued to undress you.

“A moment ago you were ready to sleep all bound up in this. Let me serve you.” 

It was pointless to argue. Soon the dress was pooled at your feet. Loki's bare chest was cool against yours. You shivered when he pressed one hand against the small of your back.

“I suppose asking for a dance would be out of the question,” he purred against your ear. Before you could summon the energy to assure him that even a royal prince could not make a sleeping person dance, he was lowering you back onto the bed. “There. Was that so hard?”

You turned onto your side to watch him. He picked up a bottle from the nightstand. You recognized it as the one Eir had given you at dinner and propped yourself up on your elbow. “That's--”

“I know what it is.” He opened it and sniffed the contents. “Are you sore?”

“A little,” you admitted. “I've never ridden before, let alone for an entire morning.”

“And then I was not gentle with you this afternoon.” He glanced towards the mirror in the corner. You lay back against the pillows in hopes of hiding your burning cheeks. Loki's weight pressed into the mattress, and then you felt something cool drip against your thighs. Before you could do much more than flinch at the sudden sensation, Loki's hands were carefully kneading your muscles. 

A wonderful scent—rich and exotic, with just the slightest burn of spices—filled your senses. It did almost as much to relax you as the prince's fingers did. “That's lovely...” you sighed.

“Oils like this work best when you do more than just rub them into the skin.” He began to knead a particularly tender spot, and you cried out. All he did was drip a little more oil onto your skin as he rubbed. Slowly, the pain ebbed until there was only the soothing motion of his hands. You relaxed again and allowed his touch to lull you closer and closer to sleep. 

“Turn over.” His voice was sudden and unexpected. You looked down at him; he was settled between your legs and seemed to be taking in the sight of you. “Go on. Turn onto your stomach.”

“But it was only my legs that hurt, my lord... Why...?” 

Loki rose onto his knees and crawled up the length of your body. He smelled like the oil: sweetly intoxicating. When he closed his mouth over yours, your head began to spin, despite the softness of the kiss. His hands found your shoulders and he squeezed lightly, but even that gentle pressure was enough to make you moan against his lips. When he pulled back, you could see that he was smiling. “That is why. Now will my lady deny me?”

His eyes were soft as he looked at you. Had you noticed that before? His mouth was not smiling, but the rest of his face seemed to be. You tucked some of his hair behind his ear and smiled back. “How could I?”

He moved away to let you turn onto your stomach, and you wrapped your arms around one of the pillows. But he did not touch you. When you turned your head to look over your shoulder, you caught him sitting there, just...looking at you. 

“If you could only see yourself,” he said in a hushed tone. He drew one fingertip down along your spine, sending chills throughout your body. Once again, you could not stop the moan that escaped when he closed his hands around your shoulders. You had never been touched like this, not by anyone. He was soothing and easing aches that you had had for so long that they'd simply become a part of your body.

“Loki...” There had to be some way to thank him for this. You searched your mind for the words, but found nothing. Regardless, his hands continued to smooth over your shoulders, along your spine, across your ribcage. He moved slowly and paid careful attention to your body. You still had no idea what to say to him. The tenderness of his touch and the heady scent of the oil lulled you ever closer to sleep. It had been a very long time since you had felt this cared for.

“You said it first.” 

If his voice had been any quieter, you might not have heard him. You turned your head to look at him, hoping that his face might give away some kind of clue as to what he meant. What little you could see offered nothing: he was as nonchalant as though he'd never spoken.

“What did I say?”

He was silent for a long time, focusing all of his attention on the backs of your thighs. Your skin felt sore in certain places, but all of your muscles had been warmed and loosened considerably. Loki finished with your legs and drew his hands back up your sides. He was no longer massaging your muscles. Instead, he caressed your skin. 

“I have been a monster for most of my life. It is so much easier to keep the fools at bay when they fear you.” 

“That sounds lonely.” Perhaps it was better not to try to follow the prince's line of thinking. You were exhausted and your body felt like it was floating amid the silks and furs of the bed. You closed your eyes.

“It never bothered me. Do you remember the night you had too much wine?” 

You made a soft noise of affirmation. The alcohol had blurred your memory of that night somewhat, but you remembered it. The sweet acrid bite of the wine. The way your blood had seemed to vibrate in your limbs and in your head. The confusion, and then the panic while you danced with Thor. If your father's behaviour had not taught you not to overindulge in the drink, that night certainly had. 

“That was the first night that I ever felt shame for being a monster.” His voice was thick. You would have sat up to get a better look at your prince, but his hand pressed firmly against the center of your back. “I saw you dancing with my brother, and I felt you slipping away. All I wanted was to keep you close, but all I ever did was frighten you and make you cry. Your tears shamed me.”

The night came back to you then, along with all the things that Loki had said. You pressed your face into the pillow and lifted it only to murmur, “I'm sorry—” 

He cut you off with a single sharp syllable—“Don't.”—and moved up the bed to lay beside you. You turned onto your side to look at him. His face was sharp, but softened as he reached out to smooth your hair. “I walked the garden for hours, trying to stop picturing your face. I nearly slept out there, beneath the trees, rather than come back to face you. I expected you to flinch away from me. I would not have blamed you if you'd cried out with fear. But all you did was press yourself against me and tell me that I was not a monster. And then you told me you loved me.”

Your cheeks burned. You remembered speaking the words. They had gone unacknowledged for so long that you had convinced yourself that you had only spoken them in your head, or else dreamed them. You scooted closer to him on the mattress and pressed your head against his chest. He threaded his fingers through the hair on the back of your head and held you close. You could hear his heartbeat: a quick, steady thudding against the inside of his chest.

“I told myself that the words meant nothing. You were half-asleep, and drunk besides. But still I laid there awake all night, turning the words over in my mind.”

“When do you ever sleep?” You mumbled. Addressing that question was easier than addressing the rest of his words. The thought that you—ridiculous, village-girl you—could say or do anything to weigh so heavily on a prince's mind...it didn't make sense. Still, you did rather like the thought of it. You wrapped your arms around his waist and held him tightly to you. 

“Sometimes.” A light pressure on the top of your head. A kiss? “But not that night.”

You laid there for a long time. How could you now be lying cradled so peacefully in the arms of a man who had once threatened such cruel violence? There was a tickling in your hair. Loki was twisting a lock of your hair thoughtfully around his finger, and then unwinding it. His motions were so distracted and dreamlike that you had to wonder if he even realized he was doing it. 

“I wasn't sure I'd spoken the words aloud,” you murmured against his skin. His hand stilled. You moved back to look at him as you spoke. “I meant them. I did. I just thought I was dreaming.” The last few words were interrupted by a yawn. 

“It's been a long day, love. Go to sleep. We have plenty of time to talk about this in the days to come.” He sat up a bit to pull the covers over the two of you. When he settled back into the mattress, you aligned your body to his once again and settled your head against his shoulder. You barely had time to think “I am so very tired” before you slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep.

***

It was easy to ignore the sounds at first. Still half-asleep, you could have turned onto your other side and told yourself it was just the start of a dream. As you made your way towards wakefulness, you could have told yourself that it was a servant in the room, perhaps tending to the fire.

But then you felt movement beside you, and heard the sound again. It was Loki, kicking at the covers and moaning in his sleep. 

So he did sleep after all.

But now was not the time. He muttered something and tried to turn away from you, but his legs were so solidly wrapped in the blankets that he barely moved. He was spitting nonsense. You reached out to touch his forehead, but he was not feverish. Was the strong, threatening prince having a nightmare? Holding back your smile, you pressed your lips to his forehead.

His hand flailed out and connected with your cheek, but there was not enough force behind it to do any real damage. Still, you closed your fingers around his wrist and held it against your chest. “Loki,” you sang gently into his ear. “My prince, you're dreaming.” 

He groaned again. It was a low sound, full of dread. You'd never heard anything like it from him before. He thrashed against the sheets. You shook his shoulder, growing desperate now. Did he always sleep this deeply? “Wake up.” Your voice was louder now, and sharper. “Loki, wake up.”

His free arm—the one you were not clutching to your chest—swung around with enough force hard enough to push you away. He barked something in his sleep—it sounded like the word “Run”, though you were hardly in any state to be certain. Finally you gave up. You threw yourself across his body, one leg on either side of his hips, and leaned forward to press your forehead against his. “You're dreaming, Loki. You're only dreaming. Wake up. Come back to me.”

His body went rigid beneath you, but he stopped fighting. His eyes, wild and bewildered, searched yours. It would be a new moon soon, and the torches had gone out, but you could feel his gaze in the darkness. “What is it? Are you hurt?” He rested his hands on your hips. You could tell that he was trying to keep his face blank, carefully neutral, but his fingers trembled against you.

“You were dreaming,” you said simply. But you did not move away from him. How could you, when he was still looking up at you, so confused? You worked your fingers tenderly through the hair at his temples. “It sounded terrible.”

Loki let out a long, deep breath and let his head fall back against the pillows. Was it a trick of the light, or was there color rising in his pale cheeks? He smoothed his hands up along your sides, and then across your back until he was embracing you. “Perhaps it was.”

As though he did not remember it. How could someone awaken in the middle of a dream terrible enough to make them cry out and not remember it? But you let him go on pretending. Perhaps he needed to. So rather than questioning him, you turned your head to kiss his throat, sucking and biting gently in hopes of driving the visions away. Cool fingers snaked around the back of your neck to hold you there. His pulse raced against your lips, but slowly, slowly, it began to return to normal.

“We are safe here, are we not?” You pulled back just far enough to speak; your lips still brushed against his skin. He laughed, and let his hand weigh heavy on the back of your head.

“Always, my love. This is your palace and everyone within its gates is sworn to protect you. No harm will come to you.” 

“No, not me.” You pulled back farther now, to look at him. “Us. You. If I am safe, then you are too.” Such a clumsy, leaden tongue. If he did not remember the dream, or was pretending not to remember the dream, then what use did he have for such blunderous promises? You did your best not to roll your eyes at your own words and kissed him as apology.

Without warning, Loki rolled the two of you over, so that it was you stretched out on the bed and him hovering above you. He caressed a ticklish line along your cheekbone and to your neck, then lowered his lips to yours. He kissed as though he were searching for something, slow and deep and thorough. It stole your breath.

He pulled back and studied your face. After a moment or two, a wide and shining smile seemed to break through the gloom. “Precious heart. All is well. We—the both of us—are safe and shall remain so for as long as the palace stands.” He rolled away from you and onto his back, letting his arms loll elegantly amid the pillows above his head. “And you must sleep.”

“We must both sleep,” you corrected. You sat up to straighten out the covers that had been tangled and kicked to the floor. As you laid down, pressed against his side once more, you pulled the covers back over the two of you. “I will wake you if you have another terrible dream.” 

He lowered one arm to wrap around your shoulders and kissed your forehead. “I am so very lucky that you are mine,” he mumbled. Little waves of pleasure rippled through you. Nestled as comfortably as you were alongside the prince, it did not take very long indeed before you fell back asleep.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of your patience. A lot of people on Tumblr kept asking me when this chapter was coming, to the point that eventually I had to stop answering because the only thing I could offer was "I don't know, but I do know that it hasn't been abandoned." A big part of the problem was the weather, and what this time of year does to my moods. On my worst days, it's a struggle to get to work in the morning, and by the time I get home I can barely even think about opening up this story because I'm constantly convinced that it's garbage. (On better days I remind myself that if so many beautiful people are reading and enjoying the story, how could it possibly be garbage, but you know what that nasty voice inside your heart can be like, right?)
> 
> In any case, here it is! The next chapter! In which I validate your hatred of Issa and get really heavy-handed and obvious about certain things. Oops. I've got some of the next chapter planned out already. Hope you're ready for a party!

The morning was cold, so cold that for a moment you forgot you were in the palace. You were in your father's home in the village, and you had let the fire go out overnight. Just as you were about to leap from the bed to relight it before he could awaken, you remembered where you were. You burrowed deeper under the covers and sighed. This was a much better place. 

A hand snaked beneath the blankets, and then cool fingers spread across your belly. Loki turned over onto his side with a sleepy little snuffle. You reached out to comb some of his hair behind his ear. He looked as though he were sleeping, but his fingertips traced circular patterns against your skin. He opened one eye to look at you, and the intensity in his expression made you blush.

“Good morning,” you murmured. His skin was characteristically cold, but you moved closer to him anyway. There were silks and furs and thick blankets to keep you warm. He moved his hand up along your body, cupping one breast and caressing your collarbone until finally it came to rest on your cheek. “I fear the fire's gone out.”

He made a noise of affirmation. “No one comes to tend it at night. Shall I warm you instead?” He spoke the words with a smile, and the way he pulled you closer to him spoke more of affectionate warmth than the crazed heat from yesterday. You relaxed against him and felt him pull the blankets tighter.

“Did you have any more nightmares?” You asked softly. But you didn't expect an answer, not from the man who barely acknowledged having had the dreams in the first place. 

Indeed he did not speak for a long time. Instead he pressed his face against the back of your head. You felt him draw in a breath, and then he let it out slowly, allowing the heat to creep through your hair and warm your scalp. You shivered despite yourself and wriggled still closer to him. 

“I have found...” His voice was far away and almost dreamlike. “That the best way to keep the nightmares at bay is to share your bed with a beautiful woman.”

You were quiet for a moment, allowing the words to sink in and color your cheeks, but then you squirmed against him. “All your pretty words cannot make me forget waking you last night, my lord. Horrible dreams visited you. Perhaps I am not beautiful enough to drive them off.” But you were joking, and made sure to keep your voice light. You were certain that you were not up to a repeat of the day before.

Loki growled and tightened his grip around you, digging his fingers into the tender flesh of your belly and sides. It tickled for a moment, and laughter rose to your lips. But when he pulled you onto your back and caught your gaze, you fell still. His face was intense—not dark with the anger you so often saw, but completely devoid of any amusement. 

“I'm sorry,” you began immediately, but he pressed his thumb to your lips. His face softened marginally. 

“If you will not believe that you are beautiful, then at least believe that I believe you to be so. Can you agree to that?” You started to protest, to tell him that you had not truly meant your words but he must have known your intentions, because he pressed his thumb still more firmly. “Can you?”

How did he expect you to answer his question while he prevented you from speaking? Your lips curled into a very small smile. Silly, darling prince. So you nodded rather than speaking aloud, and used your lips only to kiss the tip of his thumb. Loki fell into the bed beside you once again, apparently mollified. After taking a moment to collect yourself, you turned to face him and hid your face against his shoulder.

“It is too early for such intensity. A woman needs a certain amount of rest before anyone can fairly expect her to predict your moods.” You breathed in the scent of his skin and sighed. How familiar. How comforting. You reached one hand up to play with the hair at the side of his face. 

“This could all be avoided if you would simply accept the fact of your beauty.” Loki's voice was deceptively light. As though it were that simple. You did not even raise your head.

“That is not in my nature, my lord,” you murmured against his skin. He muttered something back, but it was soft enough, and you were lulled enough by the warmth of the blankets and the cool grey light of the room that you barely heard him. After that, he fell silent.

You dozed like that for some length of time: awake enough to sigh happily at the comfort you felt, but not enough to be sensible of much else. Presently, you felt Loki smooth his hand along your shoulder and shake you lightly, just once.

“You'll want to dress. Someone is coming to the door.” 

Allowing yourself a single sleepy groan, you moved to the edge of the bed and groped along the floor until you found your shift. You would need to wake up a little more before you felt up to putting your dress back on. You had time enough to wonder if you could ask someone to fill your closet with the simple, easily-worn dresses you'd known back in the village before someone jiggled the handles of the door. They were not locked—they had no reason to be, unless Loki had been planning something for this morning. He merely shrugged when you looked at him, so you slid off of the bed to open the doors.

They swung open to reveal Sindri, who might have stumbled forward and onto the floor if you had not reacted quickly enough to catch her. She mumbled a thanks and attempted a curtsy, but she was too heavily-laden to execute it properly. In addition to the now-standard overloaded tray of breakfast food, she carried a large metal bucket full of firewood. And she would not look at you. 

She placed the tray on the table near the bed and immediately went to kneel before the fire. She rearranged the coals for a moment or two, perhaps searching in vain for one last red ember, before you joined her. “It's completely out, I'm afraid. Neither of us thought to tend it during the night, so we'll have to relight it.”

“No matter, miss,” Sindri said. She pulled a flint out of her pocket. “I've been lighting fires for as long as I can remember. Won't take but a minute.” 

But, as you watched, the girl fumbled with the contraption. Her fingers were trembling, and she seemed to be favoring her right arm. You allowed her a few more clumsy attempts before taking the flint from her. Before she could protest, you had sent a flurry of sparks into the fireplace. Some caught in the papery kindling Sindri had put down, and after a bit of coaxing, a tiny fire burst into existence. Sindri stared at it as though mesmerized.

It was only now that you realized something was wrong. There was strange swelling around her eye, and hastily-cleaned tear tracks in the dust on her cheeks. Her braids were mussed. Her hands would not stop trembling. You reached for her, your hands hovering for a moment before you finally touched her shoulder. She flinched.

“Sindri, are you...what happened?”

Her back stiffened and she would have leapt to her feet, but your hand against her shoulder prevented it. “Nothing for you to worry yourself about, miss,” she said quickly—almost automatically. She tried to force a smile. All she truly accomplished in looking at you like that was revealing a nasty cut on her lower lip. Your eyes went wide and you moved your hand to cup her face. You made every effort to be gentle, but still firm enough to keep her from fleeing.

“Darling, who did this to you?”

Something in your face—shock, or else concern—caused her face to crumple. All of her weak pretenses of normalcy disappeared. Your heart broke for her. It was so easy to wear a mask of strength, right up until that first word of sympathy. You wanted to pull her close to you, but held back. There could be injuries that you had yet to notice, injuries beneath her clothes, and you did not wish to hurt her further.

“There was a man—a-a lord, I think, who came into the quarters just after breakfast. I overslept so I was the only one still there. It was my fault, I had duties before breakfast and someone else would have had to take them for me, but I was getting dressed as quickly as I could when he came in.”

Your blood ran cold. This girl, this child, caught unaware and vulnerable by a man. You cast a quick look towards the bed where Loki still lay. Sindri did not seem to have noticed him yet, but you worried that his presence would only make her more fearful. In your mind, you begged him to stay still. You did not truly want to know the answer to the question you needed to ask, but ignoring it would not change the truth. “What...did he do to you? How badly are you hurt? Did he--”

“No miss, nothing like that.” She shook her head forcefully. “He only kissed me, and tried to put his hand up my skirt, but I couldn't let him. The other girls, they freeze up like we're supposed to do when noblemen do things like this, and they don't say anything, but I couldn't stand the thought.” Her hands fluttered in front of her, a gesture of uncertainty. “I pushed him and I got away, but he yanked my arm and pulled me back, and then he beat me.” Her voice, which had been growing steadily softer, was barely audible by the time she finished speaking. “I know it was my fault for sleeping so late, but I just--”

“No, Sindri.” You reached to smooth her hair away from her face; she flinched away before you could even touch her. Of course. You mumbled a quick apology, but that didn't help things much either. Her face crumpled again and she turned to throw herself against you. You caught her easily and gathered her into your lap. At twelve or thirteen, she was not a small girl, but you held her like a child because...that's what she was. She clung to you desperately as you rocked her. You spoke into the top of her head, just as desperate for her to know that this was not her fault. She had not deserved this. 

You were vaguely aware of Loki sliding out of bed behind you, heard him stepping into his trousers and fastening them. For a moment you hoped that Sindri would be too lost in her tears to hear him, but soon enough she was rising quickly to her feet and struggling to find words. 

“I'm sorry. Prince Loki. Sire. Please, forgive me. I did not mean to linger. Or to wake you.” She sank into a low, unsteady curtsy. “I'll be going now, to leave you in peace. I'm sorry.” 

“Stay, Sindri,” you said quickly. You took her hand, but made sure not to hold her too tightly. “We'll tell the queen, and she'll lock him away. She doesn't stand for behavior like his. You needn't worry about him any more.” 

“Yes, miss,” she replied, but she wouldn't look at you. She didn't seem particularly convinced. Loki, too, looked strange. 

“Your girl is too meek tell you, darling, but that won't happen.” His thumbs were hooked in the waistband of his trousers. He stood there easily, as though he were completely unaware of his audience.

“What? Why? She's done it before. The man who grabbed me, the man who grabbed Rowan. They were imprisoned, right? This man's done much worse than grab, and to a child besides. This is worse. Does it not merit a cell?” They both wore identical expressions, the same quiet reluctance to speak. Sindri twisted her hands in her skirts.

“A queen cannot imprison a lord for mistreating a servant. A guard or one of her soldiers, certainly, and anyone who lays a hand upon the companion on a prince, but this...” He spread his arms and shrugged. “It would be a political nightmare.”

It had been a long time since you'd felt this helpless, but the feeling was familiar nonetheless. How could this be? How could you be surrounded by the beautiful luxuries of the palace, under a queen repulsed by the horrors men could inflict upon the women in her charge, and still not be able to do anything about it? 

Your anger must have shown on your face, because Loki's face softened. “I shall speak to her. And perhaps I can convince him to depart from the palace early.” He laughed once, quickly and without mirth. “I would gladly rip him limb from limb for you if you asked, pet, but then Mother wouldn't be pleased with either of us.” 

He was right. What was there to be done? You sighed and, without thinking, lifted Sindri's hand to your heart. She drew in a quick breath but didn't pull her hand away. “Then she will not be alone. Can that be done, at least?”

“A guard for the child.” Loki's lips curled into a tiny smile, but he nodded. “I suppose that could be done, at least for the length of the lord's stay.” 

“Please don't trouble yourselves. I don't need such things, I can't ask for them.” She shook her head fiercely. “I have a good life here in the palace, I do not mind paying for it in this way.” 

You wanted to speak up, assure her that she didn't need to pay for her life here at all, let alone by letting men like that paw at her, but something in her voice kept you silent. No one spoke for some time, but finally Loki lifted the tray from the table. 

“You said you slept through breakfast.” It was not a question, but it was directed at the girl beside you. “Eat.” He placed the tray on the rug before the fire and then backed away again.

“Please, sire, I couldn't. That is for you...and your lady. If I wanted to eat, I should have risen sooner.” She stooped to retrieve the bucket of firewood. “By your leave, sire, I've other rooms to take care of.”

She started towards the door, but Loki stepped in front of her. He looked determined, which must have read to Sindri as threatening, because she stumbled backwards.

“You've not had breakfast, and a servant's day is long and full of toil. Eat.” He hovered near the edge of the bed. He must have been cold, standing there shirtless in the middle of a chill the fire had yet to touch, but he gave no indication of it. 

“Is that an order, sire?” She wouldn't raise her eyes to look at him. How much of that was fear, and how much of that was the prince's bare chest? You might have smiled, if the situation were different.

“If it needs to be. Must I order you to take sustenance?”

“Please.” Sindri had slid the bucket into the crook of her elbow and gone back to twisting her hands in her skirts. “I mustn't take food from you. If Helda found out, she'd—please, sire...”

“Whose anger do you fear more, child, Helda's or mine?” His voice was low. If you did not already know the sound of his fury so well, you might have been frightened. But he was merely playacting, puffing his chest and posturing, all without a shred of true anger. “And you'll not be taking anything from us. Why do you think I have so much food sent to us every morning? Each tray is easily enough to feed three, don't you think?”

Sindri sank to her knees. The bucket on her arm clattered onto the floor as she gasped for breath. “My lord, please. I have been so presumptuous. Forgive me.”

Loki was unimpressed. He caught your attention and widened his eyes, as though asking What would you have me do? “See to it that she eats, darling. And don't let her leave until I've returned.” 

And with that, he disappeared out the door. He still wore nothing but his trousers. You took a moment to feel for any unsuspecting servants who might come across him in the corridors, but then turned your attention back to Sindri. She was still trembling. You pressed one of the mugs of tea into her hands, and, thankfully, she accepted it.

“Will you get in trouble for this?” she finally asked in a voice that shook nearly as badly as her hands. What had happened to the grinning child you'd once known? She'd once seemed as carefree as a servant could possibly be, but now she was...this. 

“I doubt it.” He'd known that she so often shared your breakfast, and had made it clear that he was not bothered by it. But asking the kitchens to send more food just for her? That was something else entirely. 

Still, she didn't eat. “Did the prince punish you for sharing your food when he found out?”

“I am still not sure when he found out.” You began eating, in hopes that she would follow suit. “He never said anything about it. But you shouldn't worry, he wouldn't punish me for something like this. Or...at all, I think. He treasures his reputation as a monster, but he's really rather...” What was the word? Sweet? Affectionate? Kind? Even knowing the prince as you did, the words felt wrong. Sindri was looking at you, waiting patiently for you to finish speaking, but you weren't sure you could. “He wouldn't hurt you.”

You wouldn't have expected the promise to do much to soothe her, but as time wore on, Sidri grew more and more comfortable, and even ate with you as she'd done in your own room. Soon enough, she was looking more like herself: cheeks flushed with warmth and laughter, a tiny smile gracing her lips. She looked the way a child ought to look, albeit with cuts and bruises and terribly mussed hair. You reached out to touch one of her braids, but pulled back immediately, remembering. You were not any more entitled to touch the child than her attacker had been.

“May I... Would you like me to re-braid your hair?” You didn't want her to feel as though she had to allow you. She had only just replaced the mug on the tray, and now she looked at you with surprise. “I would truly like to do it, but if you'd rather I didn't...”

“If it would please you, miss... I would like that too.” She offered you a shy smile. “I suppose I look a fright. The man, he pulled my hair.”

You let the remark pass unacknowledged. Instead, you busied yourself with unfastening her hair and combing it smooth with your fingers. Remembering the way it felt to have the prince caress with your hair—how soothing and peaceful it could be—you kept at the task perhaps just a bit longer than you truly needed to. She could do with some soothing and some peace.

“You needn't be so kind to me,” Sindri said. Her voice was soft, faraway. You were not the only one who enjoyed having your hair stroked this way, then. You smiled to yourself. “It is an honor to serve a lady as lovely as you. I would be happy to do it even if you didn't share your food or offer me kindnesses such as this.”

Feeling self-conscious, you shushed her. “If it were truly up to me, no one would serve me. I am just the same as you are. I am just the same as everyone else who lives in the servant's quarters. I value you dearly, I just—” You sighed. “I don't see why I should have servants and you should not have anyone.”

She was quiet for a long time, as you worked her hair into a simple braid. You would have liked to have done something fancier for her, but this was as far as your skills had developed. “We take care of each other,” she finally said. Her voice now sounded far older than her years. “The girls in the quarters. We have each other. If one of us is unwell, the rest take her duties as their own. We even have a healer with a little garden for herbs.” She ducked her head, perhaps sheepishly. “And Rowan reads to us often, at nights and whenever she has a spare moment.”

You smiled for a moment at the image her words had conjured, but it disappeared almost immediately. Did the others not know how to read? 

She did not give you much time to consider that possibility before she turned to smile at you. “And the queen asks after us often, and you share your breakfast, and just now you've braided my hair for me. So it's not so bad. It's better than the lives we would have had outside the palace gates.”

You remembered what the queen had said about Sindri's mother. Her family. Her words were true enough. 

Loki saved you from having to think of something else to say to her, because he stepped elegantly through the doors just then. Sindri jumped to her feet to greet him, and jostled you in the process. Your leg knocked against the mug of tea sitting beside you. It had cooled a bit while the two of you had spoken, but it was still hot enough to burn you. You gritted your teeth against the pain. After all that had happened, it was entirely possible that Sindri would burst into tears if she realized what she had done. Instead, you rose to stand beside her, and kept one hand pressed firmly to your thigh.

“Our esteemed guest has shortened his stay. He will only be here through the end of the week. Mother was furious, and requests your presence as soon as you are able to go to her.” He nodded towards Sindri.

She seemed about to speak: likely to thank Loki over and over again for what he'd done, but it wasn't enough. You spoke first. “That is still too many nights to spend here. What's to stop him from trying again?”

Loki pressed his lips together. If you were showing yourself to be an ignorant village-girl again, then so be it. The thought of someone like that remaining in the palace, remaining a threat to the girl who stood beside you...

“The guard we offer her.” Loki's voice was even. If he was irritated or amused, he kept it hidden. “It is the best we can do. Unless you'd like to have her sleep with us every night.”

“No, sire, miss, that won't be necessary. Please. Thank you for the guard, but even that...I can keep away from him. I'm small, and faster than I look.” She picked up the bucket. “Truly, I cannot thank you enough for your kindness. I will never be able to repay you, but I shall try every day.” 

“The little room across from my clothes,” you blurted out. “The empty servant's room. Can she...” Was this overstepping your bounds? The thought struck you silent. Loki's face was still carefully neutral, but that was no guarantee that he was not angry. 

He must have realized that you were not going to finish your question, because he came to you and cupped your cheeks in his hands. His smile as he looked at you was fond, and he did not look away even when he addressed Sindri. “Child, if you are not frightened to sleep so near to me, the room is yours for as long as you like. There is a separate entrance in the corridor. The head servant can show you.”

“Yes, sire. I cannot repay you for your kindnesses, sire, but I appreciate them more than I can say.” She must have seen her chance at freedom, because she hurried from the room before either of you could say another word. You hated that you'd made her so uncomfortable, but what you hated even more was that she was not safe in her home. You caught the prince's eyes, feeling foolish and presumptuous now that you were alone. But that fond smile had not diminished at all.

“Thank you—” 

He stilled your lips with his own. “I have given you nothing to which you were not entitled. There is no need to thank me.” He leaned down to pick up the tray from where it still rested on the rug, and then sat in a chair not far from the fire. You perched on the edge of the bed and watched him eat. Surely all the food had grown cold by now, but he ate with gusto. He had been hungry, but he'd gone to speak with his mother before eating breakfast. And you hadn't even needed to ask him.

You watched him quietly as he ate. Did he even realize how much he had changed from that first night at the ball? That first night in your room? He raised a mug of tea that had to have become lukewarm and met your eyes, but said nothing. That was fine. You stood up and approached him, leaning down to kiss his cheek. 

“Thank you,” you repeated softly. Before he could answer, you hurried into the corridor on your way to the room with all of your clothing. An entire room. It was still mind-boggling to think about owning that much of anything, let alone clothing. You grabbed a dress more or less blindly, doing your best not to look at the vanity that held the extravagant necklace Loki had tried to give you. A very small part of you wanted to see how he would look at you if you stepped into his room wearing the ridiculous thing around your throat, but you did not even have to pick it up to know how heavy it would feel. Instead, you slipped back through the door in a dress the color of the little yellow flowers that bloomed in the autumn mornings, unencumbered by the weight or the expectations of that necklace.

Loki was still in the chair beside the fire, staring into the crackling flames. The tray on his lap was mostly empty now, and you had to fight to ignore that pang of guilt that stabbed through you. He had been that hungry and still had gone to his mother for you first. He looked up as you stepped into the room, and, unless it was merely a trick of the shadows cast by the fire, the corners of his lips turned up into a smile.

“Is there a scrap of clothing in all the realm whose appearance cannot be improved upon merely by resting against your skin?” His voice was low, but it traveled directly to your ears. You could feel yourself smiling like a fool, and ducked your head. 

“Silver tongue,” you mumbled dismissively, and stooped to pick up one of the covers that had fallen to the floor sometime during the night. Loki was behind you in an instant. His hand gripped your hips and pulled your body up against his. 

“If my lady will allow me, I shall spend the rest of my days speaking these words and other like them to her. Perhaps someday she might allow herself to believe them.” He spoke into the side of your neck, his breath warm and his voice rumbling against your skin. You shivered.

“I think...I would like that, my lord.” The confession was scarcely louder than a breath, and yet you felt the prince's arms tighten around you in reply. After a moment or two, he finally released you, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck before he pulled away. 

“You must not promise such things so lightly, darling,” he muttered, and stalked back to the fire. He picked up Sindri's overturned mug and placed it on the tray, not even turning to look at you. “Were you badly burned?”

It took you a moment to find your words, as jarring as you found the sudden change in mood. “N-no, sire. It doesn't even hurt anymore.”

The prince made a quiet noise of acknowledgment and moved the tray to the table. “Remarkable. I would not have been able to keep my silence, even today, and you barely flinched. Your concern for others truly does outweigh your concern for yourself.”

You shifted uncomfortably. Of course he would have noticed. You shrugged half-heartedly and tried to hold his gaze. “She was upset enough as it was. I did not want to frighten her.”

“When did you learn this restraint? And how?” he asked. He looked genuinely curious, as though you were something that fascinated him. Perhaps a child prince had no need to learn self-restraint. Even the second son, constantly trailing after his older brother, would have been endlessly coddled and spoiled. You might have smiled, if you had not been thinking about the reasons you had to learn to keep quiet.

The light, teasing air was gone from the room anyway. You shrugged one shoulder with discomfort and lowered your eyes to the prince's chest. “When I cried, it only made him angrier,” you murmured. You saw it the moment the realization struck: you watched his shoulders slump forward just just a fraction of a second before he squared them back once again. You saw just the slightest twitch of one of his forearms, as though he'd started to reach for you but thought better of it. At least he wasn't yelling. You raised your eyes to his face again. His eyebrows were furrowed, and rather than angry, he looked...shattered. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but all that came out was a sigh. When he lifted his arms in invitation, you went to him and hid your burning face against his shoulder.

“Just say the words and he will never again see the light of day,” he mumbled against the side of your head. “I am yours to command.” But he did not expect you to answer, you knew. You held your tongue and clung to him for just a little while longer, until you felt that you could stand on your own. The past was just that—in the past. There was no need for you to see that man ever again, so what was the use in dwelling on him? 

Loki kept his hands on your arms and stepped backwards to peer down at your face. “The day promises to be too beautiful to dwell on such bleak things,” he said. “Will my lady accompany me on a walk through the gardens?”

“Anything for my lord.” You brushed your fingertips up along the length of one of his forearms, across his bare chest. “But...perhaps you should dress. The air is growing cold.”

“If I must.” He still spoke softly, perhaps in apology for dredging up your past. “I'll not be long.”

He disappeared behind the tapestry, and you watched as it settled back into place behind him. How strange, you mused, to hide the doorway so. You'd slept in this very room for all this time without realizing that it was anything more than a wall hanging. What was the point of the camouflage? You settled yourself into the chair by the fire and let your mind wander. A safeguard, perhaps: a secret escape in case of an angry mob? You could not imagine Loki following you into that corridor; surely he'd be expected to stand and fight. 

Thankfully, before you could get much further into that imagined situation, Loki stepped back into the room. If he noticed anything strange or fearful in your expression, he did not mention it as he came to stand before you.

“All is well?” He extended his hand to help you out of the chair. 

“It is.” You managed a smile. He tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow, and the two of you made your way through the palace to the grounds.

***

But you did not go into the garden. Instead, you wandered the rest of the grounds, along paths beneath trees that already glowed crimson and gold. For a moment, you wondered whether the the trees were specifically chosen to match the older prince's colors, or if perhaps his colors were chosen based on those of his home. You said nothing. In any case, the colors were much more beautiful here beneath the crisp blue sky than when they adorned the man in the palace. You readjusted your hand where it rested against Loki's arm, and he glanced over at you with that peaceful smile you loved. 

You walked on, neither apparently feeling any need to break the silence that rested between you. Gradually, you made your way out of the trees and on toward the stables. You were not particularly thrilled about the prospect of riding a horse in a dress like this one. Surely Loki would not ask you to expose so much of your legs by hiking up your skirt? It was your turn to glance at him, but he did not meet your eyes as he led you into the warm air of the stables.

Aurok was there. He didn't seem to notice the two of you at first. He was grooming a horse, his strong coppery hands deft and elegant as he cared for the large creature. It sounded as though he was humming something, some rough tune under his breath. He was clearly a better horseman than he was a singer, but there was a certain charm to his voice. Loki pressed lightly on your hand and gestured down one of the aisles between the stalls.

“We needn't disturb him,” he said in a low voice. “I know what I've come for. This way.” When you stopped walking, it was in front of a stall with a beautiful silver-grey horse in it. It stuck its nose out over the door and snuffled curiously in your direction. He grasped your wrist gently and raised your hand to stroke the horse between her eyes. It made a low sound, almost like a growl, and you would have pulled your hand away if it hadn't been for Loki's. “All is well, darling. She likes it.” 

He let go of you, then, and you stepped back as he move to open the gate. You cast a nervous look in Aurok's direction; you knew Loki knew what he was doing, but could one man stop this giant creature if she decided to run away?

But he led her out of the stall without incident, and soon she stood in the aisle before you. Her ears were pricked forward, but her eyes seemed soft somehow. As large as she was, surely she posed you no danger. Gingerly you reached to touch her again, and again she made that low sound. This time, though, you didn't jerk your hand away.

“She's beautiful,” you said softly, reaching (with no small amount of courage) to touch her nose. It was soft and velvety, and she snuffled and nudged harder against your palm. “Is she of Thor's fleet?” You almost didn't want to hear the answer to that question. Could he deserve a creature so beautiful? Could he appreciate her?

“No,” Loki answered simply. He came up behind you and slid his arms around your waist. “She was one of my mother's. The Queen must have only the best and most beautiful horses, of course.”

“Of course,” you agreed. Was it permitted to touch the Queen's horse like this? Loki was not saying anything, and there was no one else around, so perhaps it was safe for now. You reached out to stroke her nose again, and up between her eyes. She made that same low sound as before and her ears seemed to relax even further. “Does she have a name?”

“Naturally.” Loki buried his face against your neck for a moment, and you couldn't help the shiver that ran up your back. “Nanna. But you can always change it.”

You laughed. “Right. Seek an audience with the queen of the land and petition her to change the name of her horse to better suit my own desires. You'll have to accompany me, my lord. Someone will need to help me hold her up when she collapses with laughter.”

Loki moved his lips against your neck, mouthing silent words that sent pleasant chills out along your limbs. He released a long, slow breath. “You'll not need to petition anyone. The horse is not my mother's any longer. She belongs to you.”

Your first instinct was to chuckle, accept his teasing with grace and not let him rattle you. But when he did not laugh—and, indeed, seemed to be waiting for your reaction—you had to catch your breath.

“Mine.” You kept your voice carefully flat. Some part of your mind told you that you had to be misunderstanding your prince, and you did not want to get overly excited and make yourself a fool. “...to ride. Today?” 

“Today, and every other day. To ride, to visit, to have. She is yours.”

He'd said it again, but the words just did not make sense. A horse was too large a gift to simply give to someone. That had nothing to do with your position or your background: how could someone reasonably give any other person a gift such as a horse? Perhaps it was a custom among nobles. You choked back your protests, knowing all too well how he would respond, and turned your attention back to the horse.

“I've never had a horse.” Your voice was still flat. Not even your family had had a horse. None of the families you'd known, whose children you'd grown up with, had had horses. Falki's father had had a small goat once, but it had disappeared one night, likely dragged into the forest by one of the wolves near the village, or else eaten by a family hungrier than Falki's.

“And that is my honor now, to provide you with any number of things you've never had before. All I ask is that you find it in yourself to express...something. Anything. Are you frightened? Pleased? Disappointed? Would you rather I convince Thor to give you Thunder?”

“No!” Your voice was too sharp, too loud in the barn. Nanna's ears twitched once, but then she thrust her head forward to snuffle at your neck. You patted her lightly, unable now to keep from smiling. “Please, Loki, she is perfect.” This was the emerald necklace all over again, and you could not help but feel the smallest stab of irritation. He had to know by now how extravagant gifts like this bothered you. If he, in turn, was going to be bothered by your discomfort, then why did he insist on giving them to you? As quickly as the feeling came, it passed. You could not be angry for long, not with a beautiful prince standing behind you and a beautiful horse before you. You squirmed a bit, managed to twist around in his arms to face him. “Forgive me, I love her. Thank you. I am—I think it's shock, that's all. I've never had a...horse.” 

“And now you do.” He spoke simply, as though it were as easy as that. Perhaps for him it was. 

“And now I do,” you repeated, just as softly. Speaking the words aloud made it easier to accept his gift. A strange wave of mischief passed through you, and you found yourself smirking up at him. “However shall I repay my lord for his generosity?”

For the briefest of moments, Loki looked confused, even offended. Perhaps he did not like the thought of you feeling indebted to him. But then realization dawned in his eyes and he smirked back at you. He lifted you into the air with one sudden, dizzying motion, and took a few steps so that your back was pressed against one of the walls. Without thinking, you tightened your legs around his waist, if only to keep from falling.

“I am quite sure we can think of something,” he purred. His voice was low and rich in the heavy dimness of the stables. You cast a glance towards where Aurok had been when you'd first entered, but he was no longer there. A mixed blessing. One of Loki's hands slipped beneath your skirt, pressing insistently against your knickers, but you reached to push it aside with a quiet laugh.

“Before the horses, my lord? And with Aurok nearby?” 

“We could hide in your horse's stall, if you'd prefer.” But he let you slide back down along the length of his body until your feet were planted solidly against the floor once again. He did not step away. Instead, he pressed forward and slanted his lips against yours. You threaded your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and kissed him back with all that you had. There was no fear of discovery, not even the smallest prickle of shame. There was only you and your prince and the way his hands came to rest against your hips.

And then there was also a quiet snuffle and gentle nudge against Loki's shoulder as Nanna came to investigate. You could feel his lips curl, and you laughed against his mouth before turning to look at the horse. Her ears were pricked forward and, when she saw you looking at her, she blew a huff of air in your direction. Not only did your prince seem to require your full attention, but so too did your horse. Your horse. The tiniest of thrills ran up your spine and you reached to stroke her nose again. How could you have feared a creature such as this? As you touched her, Loki buried his face against your neck one more and bit gently, more taste than teeth. It was all you could do to keep breathing normally. In that moment, you felt perfectly at home: protected. Wanted.

***

The rest of the morning seemed just as magical. The palace was perhaps even more beautiful now than it had been when you'd first arrived. All around you were hints of the changing of the season, and the gardens had a curious, closed-up feeling to them. The trees were still full and lush, with those bright leaves of red and gold, but many of the plants had stopped blooming and colored the garden only with their greenery. Even that: even the quiet whispers of the winter ahead had their own beauty. 

Loki hurried a few steps ahead of you and then bent to retrieve something from the ground. By the time you reached him, he had already straightened. He was holding one of the very same yellow flowers you'd thought about this morning as you dressed. “I thought it...fitting,” he said. His voice lacked his characteristic purr, and it may have been nothing more than an illusion caused by the small size of the flower, but his hand looked almost clumsy as he reached to tuck the bloom behind your ear. When he was finished, you caught his hand with your own and pressed it to your cheek. 

Neither of you spoke. There was an uncertainty in Loki's face that made you nervous. It didn't belong there any more than Nanna belonged in the palace. If you had been braver, you might have asked him to share his mind with you , as he so often asked of you, but your own nerves froze your tongue. He was beautiful. Delicate cheekbones, arching brows, soft mouth. Your stomach tightened, but it was...pleasant. Was it possible for him to think you as beautiful as you thought him? His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, a servant boy you recognized from the palace was running towards you. 

“My lord!” He was breathing heavily. You wondered if perhaps he'd already run all over the grounds looking for him. “The king requires your audience, my lord.” The boy looked at you, and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly before he lowered his gaze again. “Forgive me for my intrusion, sire.”

If Loki was irritated, or angered by the boy's interruption, he gave no sign of it. He leaned closer to press a kiss to your forehead, and let his lips linger a moment. “Until I return, darling.”

And then he was stepping away, leaving the boy to trail after him on their way back to the palace. You stood in place, his kiss still resting against your skin. This gentleness. This generosity. It was daft for you to remain so awed by how different Loki was in private, and perhaps even insulting to the man, but you couldn't help it. You reached up to touch the flower, just barely resisting the urge to twirl about. Between the moment in the stables and the moment that had just transpired, your heart felt full. You gave in and allowed yourself a short, giddy little laugh, if only because you weren't sure your body could contain the happiness you were feeling. 

You turned back towards the stables. There was nothing stopping you from going back there. If you wanted to, there was nothing truly stopping you from asking Aurok to put a saddle on Nanna so you could ride her. The idea was almost dizzying in its novelty. You headed back, if only because you couldn't imagine spending so lovely a day shut up in the library.

***

There was still no sign of Aurok inside the stables, except for the fact that Nanna was now back in her stall. It was as though he'd made himself scarce to give you privacy with Loki, but then decided to remain out of sight. You took a few careful steps into the stables, but still he didn't jump out of the hayloft or from behind a pole, so you continued to Nanna's stall. If an animal could look happy to see a person, then Nanna certainly did. She strained to reach you with her nose, and blew of puff of hot air at you when you stepped close enough.

“She's a purebred, you know, and descended from Alvis.”

The voice made you jump. When you turned around, you were not terribly surprised to see Issa standing there. She wore a riding outfit made of rich purple silk. Secretly, and in the deepest, most petty depths of your being, you couldn't help but think that it made her look like a very large full-body bruise. Her shining hair was pulled into a long, perfect braid. She brushed past you to unlatch the door to the stall.

“I'm sorry?” She'd spoken the name as though she'd expected you to recognize it, but it meant nothing to you. You watched as she patted Nanna on the neck (it looked too rough to you, but what did you know about horses?) Nanna made a low growling noise, but it didn't sound anything like the noise she'd made when you stroked her nose.

Issa cast a disparaging look over her shoulder at you. “Alvis. The prized horse of the first king of the realm. The bloodline is legendary.”

You'd take her word for it. You reached to scratch the side of Nanna's head, and her ears, which had been pinned back towards her neck, seemed to relax and droop forward slightly. “She is beautiful.” At least you could speak about that with relative confidence.

“Naturally.”

You began to wonder if the princess spoke to everybody this way, or just commoners. She could not have been very well-liked in her kingdom. But then, Loki could prove that the public opinion of a child of royalty did not necessarily matter. “She should be tacked up and ready to ride already. That damn stable boy had better not be sleeping in the horse shit again.” She looked around.

She meant to ride Nanna. You felt a stab of childish possessiveness at the realization. She had been your horse for less than an hour and already you thought of her as yours. You would have to let her. If Loki had been around, he might have stopped her, but, despite your growing comfort in your position here, you would not speak against a princess.

“There you are.” Issa was nearly shouting. Aurok stepped into view, looking confused.

“Aye, your highness. I was in the paddock, getting your horse ready for you. Do you no longer wish to ride?”

“My horse.” Her tone was mocking, and she jerked an elbow towards Nanna. “This is my horse.”

Oh no. You clenched your hands into fists. There had been a misunderstanding. The queen must have meant for Loki to give you a different horse, or else he had misunderstood. Why would you be given a horse to which a princess already held claim? Aurok glanced past Issa to give you a look that was part discomfort, part apology.

“I beg your pardon, your highness, but this horse belongs to—” 

“The queen. Yes. I know that, you idiot. What kind of fool do you take me for? But it was my father who gave the queen the stallion that sired her. I always ride this horse. Explain yourself. And do it quickly: I'm tired of standing here in this filth.”

You might have laughed if the company was different. Demanding that someone explain himself only moments after interrupting him in the middle of an explanation. Issa was beautiful—of that, you had no doubt—but she was not terribly intelligent. Aurok met your eyes again.

“I was trying to tell you, your grace, that the queen has given this horse to her son's companion.” He was clearly doing his best to keep from actually pulling you into the argument. You could have kissed him, but you did not dare move. Issa did not turn to look at you, but her back stiffened.

“What use does a village girl have for a horse with royal lineage? Can't someone just give her an old nag from her village? I demand that you get my horse ready for me.” She crossed her arms. Aurok did not look happy, but he also did not look nearly as frightened as he had when he was faced with a similarly incensed Loki.

“I have, your highness. If you'll just follow me outside—” 

A loud smack resounded through the stables and made you flinch. The stable hand’s red cheek and bright eyes said it all. Issa had slapped him! All over a stupid horse. You pushed past her to put yourself between them.

“Let her ride this horse, Aurok, it matters little to me.” How could she have hit him like that? What had he done except follow his orders? If you had known that this would happen, that Nanna was so important to the frigid princess, you might have put up more of a fight. As beautiful as she was, you could not value her over the well-being of this gentle man.

“My lady, that is very kind of you. Please forgive me for not following your command, but I fear the ire of the queen more than I fear either of you. I have strict orders not to allow anyone except yourself to ride this horse. She belongs to you.” He kept his voice low, but Issa heard him anyway, judging by the sound she made behind you.

She pushed you aside as though she were storming towards the door, but then spun to face you. You took a step back. She looked for all the world like she planned to hit you too. But as she raised her hand, face set in fierce determination, Aurok cleared his throat.

“You may try to do her harm if you'd like,” he said, “but if you do not think that I also have orders to keep her safe from your anger, then you do not know my queen, or her prince, very well.”

“If I find out you've lied to me, I'll have every last one of these horses slaughtered before your very eyes.” Her voice was no longer cool and distant; instead, it burned with anger. It frightened you a bit, to be honest, but Aurok was unruffled. Finally with one last childish growl, Issa stomped out the door. She must have found the horse she was meant to ride, because you soon heard the drum of hoof beats growing steadily further away. You stood there uncomfortably. 

A streaky palm print and four thin fingers had appeared on Aurok's dusky cheek. One of your hands raised up to touch the print, but you jerked your arm back down before you could do yourself the embarrassment of having touched him uninvited.

“I am so sorry...” you began. You had no idea what else to say. He just put up a hand to stop you.

“Don't apologize for her. I was merely doing as I was told.” He lowered his voice and grinned crookedly at you. “And if it meant I got to speak to her like that, then so much the better.”

His words seemed true enough, and he did seem fine, but you weren't sure. Why would the queen give you Issa's-but-not-actually-Issa's horse if she knew it would make her so angry that Aurok would need to be ordered to protect you? Did she have no others to give you? Did she...not care for the princess either? You studied his face for another few long moments. He bowed.

“Please, do not concern yourself. A yearling kicks harder than she hit me, and I cannot count the number of kicks that I've received. She's done me no damage, and I've been allowed to stand against her. This has been a magical day indeed. Would you like to go riding?”

You startled a bit, looking down at your dress. “Oh—thank you, but I was only here to see Nanna again.” You were glad you'd been here, though, so you could serve as a witness in case Issa tried to get him into trouble. “I've never had a horse. I suppose I just wanted to be sure she was really still here.” Were you blushing? It was likely.

“She is a good one, regardless of her lineage.” On your look of confusion, he went on. “Horses like that, with so-called bloodlines to protect, are usually so inbred that they're half-lame and stunted. But yours, she's perfect despite all that, and despite the dear princess's wholehearted attempts to ride her lame.” He lifted his hand, and you thought he meant to touch you until he reached past your shoulder. Nanna was standing there. She had only just stepped out of her stall, and you hadn't heard her sneak up behind you. Her tail swished just once as Aurok scratched one side of her neck. You took the other side, and were not even startled this time when she made that low sound.

“Issa cannot do anything to the horses here, can she?” You didn't doubt that Aurok had been telling her the truth about his orders, but what if she tried to retaliate anyway?

“She could, I suppose, but it would be foolish. It would be seen as an act of war, regardless of her motives. The entire royal family keeps their horses here, as do many of the soldiers. Our armies greatly outnumber hers. Inciting a war against us would serve only to increase the size of our kingdom.” He looked around fondly. “No, my lady, these horses are all perfectly safe. You have no need to worry.”

He spoke so easily of war, while even the merest utterance of the word made you nervous. Perhaps he truly believed no danger could come to the palace.

A shadow darkened the doorway, and you looked up. The sunlight that streamed in around him made it difficult to make out the fine details of his face and uniform, but you recognized the silhouette of a soldier. For a brief, irrational moment, you feared that Issa had sent him to retaliate against the horses so soon, but Aurok's reaction set that fear to rest. He seemed to have been expecting him. Your presence, however, clearly came as a surprise to the soldier, who hovered in the doorway. Aurok looked at you uncertainly but moved toward the newcomer.

“All is well?” He asked. The soldier nodded.

“And here?”

“It is now.” Aurok's voice was gentle. Tender. Realization began to dawn on you, and you felt yourself smiling. The soldier stepped forward to close the distance between them, and must have caught sight of the princess's handprint, because he glared at you over Aurok's shoulder.

“Don't be angry with her. She didn't do this. She's the one I told you about, the one with Loki.” The soldier seemed unconvinced. His gaze was truly unsettling. Aurok cupped his face with his hands and guided his eyes back down to his own. “I barely even felt it.” 

Nanna nudged your shoulder, drawing your attention away from the men in front of you and the way you were clearly intruding on what was meant to be a tender moment between lovers. You turned to try to lead her into her stall, but it was not as easy as Aurok made it look.

“My lady, you needn't trouble yourself with that. It's my job, remember?” 

Oops. You'd only drawn Aurok's attention back to you. You tried to give the soldier an apologetic grimace, but he was still looking at Aurok. The look on his face was lovely. Had Aurok ever caught him looking at him like that? You could only hope. You let your hand linger on Nanna's leads.

“It's no trouble. I wouldn't want to pull you away from...” You trailed off. What was the soldier's name? Aurok hadn't introduced either of you to the other. 

“Really, it's fine. Now that it's getting warmer, she should be able to spend the rest of the afternoon in the field anyway. I'll take care of her. You can go, if you need to. See if you can't get the prince to work on that betrothal of yours.”

The words were delivered in a teasing tone with a brilliant grin. If Aurok could look so much like the man you'd ridden with not so long ago, then surely things must be well. Issa could not have hurt him so badly. You ducked your head to try to hide the way your feelings showed on your face. The idea of betrothal no longer seemed such a distant and ridiculous notion, though you were certain that you were blushing.

“Thank you, Aurok. Be well.” 

You nodded your head quickly at his companion and hurried past the two of them out into the afternoon sunlight.

***

You did not see the prince again until dinner. Nervously, you walked into the hall, expecting to see Issa in your spot or else glaring daggers at you, but she was nowhere to be found. You were early: few of the queen's ladies sat chatting at the table, and even many of the soldiers who frequently conversed with the princes had not yet arrived. You took your seat regardless, and returned the friendly smiles offered to you by the ladies.

When Loki did finally step into the hall, he was accompanied by his brother and his father. Though he bore no signs of injury, his face was tense and his shoulders slumped somewhat. The moment his eyes found you at the table, however, you saw an immediate change. He stood a little straighter and his face softened. He bowed to you when he arrived at the table, and took your hand to kiss your knuckles.

“Are you well?” You asked in a low voice. Thor seemed none the worse for wear, and you hadn't seen enough of the king to be able to judge his emotional state, but he seemed fine to you as well.

“Politics,” Loki sighed. He sank gratefully into the seat beside you. “Royalty is exhausting.”

“That is one thing I do not envy, my prince.” You ventured a small sip from the goblet before you, and were pleased to discover that it was much milder and sweeter than you remembered before, with just the barest burn to reveal any presence of alcohol. Loki watched you with a thoughtful expression on his face. 

“Does the lady mock my troubles?” He leaned in closer. “Take care to hold your tongue, or else I shall have to grant you the very same burden, so that you understand my pains.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, before the weight of his words could settle into your mind. “Making a village-girl royal, my lord? I have heard the rumors of the magic in your blood, but I'm not sure that even you could manage such a feat.”

He did not return your teasing, and when you looked over at him, a storm cloud seemed to have darkened his face. “Perhaps you are right.” His tone was light, but...stiff. Overly formal. “It would take a better man than I to accomplish such a thing.”

He was offended. You had hurt him somehow, said the wrong thing. You sat without speaking for a few moments, but then reached for his hand under the table. He flinched, but thankfully did not pull away. You laced your fingers through his and gripped them tightly as you leaned closer to murmur in his ear: “There is no better man than you. My Loki.” You hesitated, but then spoke your next words as an apology. A prayer. “I love you.”

He squeezed your hand and a smile that looked like relief broke across his features. “And I you, darling, until the end of time.”

That strange wounded expression had mostly disappeared from his face, replaced by a soft tenderness when he looked at you. What an odd reaction, coming from a man so well-acquainted with mischief. You ducked your head to kiss his knuckles quickly, and then returned his hand to its resting spot on your knee. 

One of the ladies said something that made the others howl with laughter. A soldier was telling a story of his home in a voice that bespoke the love he held for the village and those who lived there. Loki was brushing his thumb across the back of your hand. You took another sip from your goblet, but the warmth that flooded through you had nothing to do with the wine. This was where you belonged. This was where you felt at home.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah, you've got my laziness and procrastination to thank for the next few chapters: reading about winter in the middle of summer (at least if you're in the Northern Hemisphere where I am). But here it is. Maybe writing about ice and snow will keep me cool.

Weeks passed, and before long, a thick blanket of snow had fallen. The palace grounds lay still and silent, as though they had been put to sleep by a magician's curse. You were, of course, perfectly familiar with snow, but the palace and its luxuries allowed you to see a different, almost lovely side to this winter. The many fireplaces in the palace kept the bitter winds at bay, and thick rugs upon the floor and heavy blankets upon the bed kept you warm. One morning, when you awoke from a sound sleep, a pair of slippers, lined with the same greyish-brown fur as your cloak, rested on the floor beside the bed. 

You had long since stopped comparing the palace to your old home, but still you couldn’t help taking a moment every morning to marvel at the fact that your skin did not crack with dryness and your fingers did not ache with the cold. Even on the few occasions when you ventured outside, your thick leggings, warm cloak, and extra layers kept you warm. You had never imagined living like this.

For many days after the first snow, life continued as usual in the palace. Issa and her soldiers left not long before the first dusting of snow. You did not miss her much. Her absence, however, highlighted just how little her presence had actually disturbed the palace. Thinking about her made you feel foolish. When she'd been here, she'd seemed to fill the whole palace, but now that she was gone, there was not a single trace that she'd ever been here. You spent time in the library. You chatted with the queen's ladies. You rode Nanna with Loki or with Aurok, weather permitting. Life in the palace, even during winter, became comfortable. Familiar.

One morning, you awoke to a clattering sound and a frustrated whisper. When you peered up and over the great heaps of covers (when he'd heard how bitterly you hated the cold, Loki had ordered many more blankets to be sent to your bed), you saw Sindri stooping to retrieve the bucket of firewood.

“I am sorry to have woken you, miss,” she said, scarcely turning her attention from the bucket. She was no longer the meek, frightened servant you had once known. She did not tremble or grovel, even in front of the prince. “I was trying to feed the fire as quickly as I could. We are all needed in the kitchens today to prepare for the ball.”

“The ball?” The fog had not quite cleared from your mind—all you could wonder was if it was Thor's time to choose a companion, which then made you wonder why Loki had chosen first. Sindri did not respond for a moment or two. Once she'd coaxed the fire back into a merry roaring thing, she stood and wiped her hands on her skirt.

“The winter ball? Surely you've heard of it, my lady. Every winter, as the snow grows thick, there is a celebration here in the palace. It began many years ago as a way to fight back against the shortening of the days, but now it's meant mostly to celebrate the passing of another year.”

What she was saying sounded familiar enough. Now you could remember a growing flurry of activity around this time every year back in the village. “Villagers are invited to this party, are they not?”

Sindri grinned. “Aye, some. It's one of the few times every year that I see my mum.” She ducked her head shyly, something you hadn't seen her do for quite some time now. “I should like to introduce her to you, if you've the time.”

“'Of course. It would be a pleasure. The whole of the palace's royal business would not keep me from you on that night.” It was hard to imagine meeting the girl's mother, but you were excited for it already. Her cheeks colored, and she sank into a curtsy.

“Thank you for saying that. I've left breakfast there beside the bed.” She gestured with her chin. Before you could even ask her if she'd eaten, she nodded quickly. “I took a little of everything but the tea.” As much food as the kitchens now sent to the room, there were still only two mugs every morning. By now everyone had to know of your routine with the girl, but perhaps someone thought sending an extra mug would simply be too blatant.

“Perfect,” you answered with a smile. “Are you warm enough?” She still slept in Loki's servant quarters most nights. In order to convince her that it was okay, you'd had to remind her that being closer to your room would make it less difficult to tend the fire in the middle of the night. In truth, all the blankets and furs made a night-fire almost useless, but you liked having her so close. No one could hurt her there. She'd also let it slip once that the bed was much more comfortable.

“I am. Thank you for asking. The little stove in there is very warm.”

In the past, it might have been more difficult for you to believe her—she would have said most anything to keep from “inconveniencing” you—but with her new confidence had also come increased truthfulness. She'd mentioned once how her slippers were too small, and growing worn, and within the day you and Loki had furnished all of the servants with new shoes. She had become something of an ambassador between you and the rest of the servants. Perhaps that was the source of her confidence.

She stood quietly for a moment or two, but then seemed to jolt back into herself. “I must go. All that food won't prepare itself.” She curtsied once, quickly but perfectly, and then hurried through the door.

Another ball. You thought it over while you ate. Was that where Loki was, helping with preparations? You did not wake up alone as often as you one had, but today his side of the bed was cool. Part of you regretted sleeping so deeply that you'd missed his leaving. It seemed you could barely turn over in your sleep without waking him, if indeed he ever slept at all. But it hardly seemed likely to you that he'd be called upon to help prepare, so then what had called him away?

You slid off of the bed and went over to the window. The icy air made its way even through the thick glass that separated you from the sky, but the sun was shining brightly. It offered some illusion of warmth, at least. The courtyard below had been cleared, but beyond it, you could see a new dusting of snow on the palace grounds. It called to you. 

With the many thick layers that the weather called for, it was somewhat more difficult to dress yourself. There were leggings now in addition to your stockings, and extra underskirts, some even lined with furs. Not long after the weather had begun to turn, Sindri had shown you an entire wall in your dressing-room of dresses made not with light cotton but something much thicker and warmer. Whatever it was, it was most certainly not the scratchy sheep's wool that you were so familiar with. These dresses rested just as softly against your skin as had your summer dresses, or the fur lining of your cloak. They were all deep, rich colors—mostly varying shades of green, as you had come to expect, but there were also warmer colors: gold and reddish-yellow and one curious scarlet. You could not imagine ever willingly clothing yourself in red, but it was muted at least: much closer to the color of the king than that of his elder son.

When you were dressed, you hurried back into the sleeping quarters. There was a new pair of boots resting beside the door. Perhaps if you had not been half-asleep when Sindri had come and gone, you might have noticed them sooner. They were elegantly made, but then everything in the palace was elegantly made. They had been cut from some rich brown leather and lined with fur. Something about them told you this was another of Loki's gifts—they seemed meant for you. They fit perfectly. Of course. You took a moment to admire them, and did not waste even a moment feeling guilty for your vanity.

Now, appropriately garbed for the winter air if not for the significantly-warmer air of your sleeping quarters, you made your way through the palace and out the doors.

***

Much of the grounds were crisscrossed with footprints from servants or other inhabitants on their way to one place or from another. Here and there you could even see hoof prints (which made you smile as you pictured Aurok leading his horses somewhere they weren't supposed to be) or else prints from small animals or even birds. But there were still a few places—up hills, mostly, and between trees—where the snow was still untouched. 

Most of the time, you managed to suppress the urge to make your mark in the fresh snow, but sometimes it simply proved too difficult. That was how you found yourself standing on one foot in the middle of a tiny circle of new snow, peering through the trees at the sullen form of your prince, some distance away.

You crept closer, keeping yourself low and trying to make as little noise as possible. He was standing at the edge of the pond. At first glance, he seemed to be staring out at the unfrozen circle in the very center, but when you looked harder, it became clear that he was not seeing it. He had his arms crossed in front of himself, and he didn't move even when the wind blew his hair into his face. It was hard to be certain, but there was a very melancholic air about him. It was unnerving. 

Before you really knew what you were doing, you had bent down to scoop up a large handful of snow. You watched him carefully even as you shaped it. If he knew you were nearby, he gave no indication of it, which was worse than unnerving. He always knew when you were close, and you could always tell when he sensed you. You weighed the snowball in your hand. It was large and solid enough to fly well, but not so dense that it could hurt him. You drew in a deep breath for courage and took aim. 3...2...1...

You fought the urge to cheer when the snowball hit him squarely on the shoulder. He jerked his head toward you, with eyebrows drawn together and a snarl on his lips, but the tree was large enough to hide you. He called out, a warning or threat that was mostly lost on the wind, but you stayed frozen with your back pressed firmly against the trunk. 

His footsteps came closer. Normally, he moved so quietly, but the snow made that impossible. Your heart thudded loudly in your chest—if he wasn't certain which tree you were hiding behind, surely your heart would lead him right to you. 

“There are not many who would escape such an attack unscathed,” he said sharply. He was angry, that much was clear. You could have sworn that he'd seen you before you ducked behind the tree, but perhaps he hadn't. “Show your face.” He was right behind you. The smart thing to do would be to step out of hiding and show him that you'd meant him no harm. Instead, you ran.

Behind you, you could hear his surprised exclamation, but you didn't stop until you'd found shelter behind another, similarly-thick tree. You didn't bother to peek around the side this time: you could hear his feet crunching closer, faster. You waited until he was right behind you again, and then darted away to another tree. A snowball hit your back and exploded, sending chunk of snow down the collar of your cloak. You spun around to gape at your prince. He flashed a dangerous grin and stooped to gather more snow, running towards you all the while. 

The grin spurred you onwards, made you turn around again and keep running. Your feet slipped on a patch of icy mud, and you stumbled for a few steps, but regained your balance. You found another tree trunk just in time to hide from another snowball hurtling towards you. The next ball you threw at Loki was far less precise, and maybe a little heavier than it needed to be. It fell short of where your prince stood. He smirked at you again and began shaping another ball. 

What other choice did you have but to do the same? You picked up another handful of snow, but when you peeked out from behind your tree, Loki was nowhere to be found. While you were busy looking for him, you felt someone—Loki, surely—smash a fistful of snow down on the top of your head. He laughed as you sputtered to find your words.

Perhaps he thought he'd won the battle, because he did nothing to stop you from mashing your snowball right into his mouth. Now it was his turn to sputter, and you took advantage of his distraction to try to get away again.

You managed to take no more than five steps when another patch of ice sent you sprawling to the ground. Before you had time to get to your feet, Loki was stretching out on top of you. He didn't look angry or melancholy anymore, so that was something. Still, you knew that it was the mischief in his eyes, rather than the snow on the ground, that sent the shivers down your back.

“This is a dangerous game,” he said. When he pressed a kiss to your eyelid, his lips were cold. You couldn't help but laugh. He narrowed his eyes. You squirmed beneath him, trying to wriggle free from his grasp, but he didn't budge. Instead, you dug your mittened fingers into the snow beside you, hoping that perhaps the same distraction trick would work twice. Just as you raised your fist to rub a handful of snow against his cheek, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head. His eyes were dancing. “Before I realized who was behind the assault, I was ready to throw you into a cell.”

“You looked so sad,” you murmured. You relaxed your hands and let the snow fall back to the ground. The game was over. “I meant only to distract you from your sadness.”

He didn't reply. He held your gaze for a moment or two, but then closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against yours. You would have liked to run your fingers through his hair, but the mittens you wore, as well as his fingers still clamped around your wrists, made that impossible. You had not been able to distract him after all.

“My lord. What troubles you?” Fear twisted your stomach. He was behaving so strangely.

“Gentle heart,” he murmured, but did not lift his head from yours. He sighed, and it sounded as though it came from a man much older than his years. “What are you doing in this place?”

That was enough. You struggled to free your hands, though it did not take much. When you were free, you cupped his cheeks in your palms and lifted his head enough to allow you to look at him. There was something in his eyes—something like shame. He would not look at you.

“You are scaring me.” And he was. All this quiet, all this sadness. This was not like your prince. He was anger and chaos, not melancholy. “What happened? What is it? Please, Loki.”

He blinked, long and slow, and finally met your eyes. The shame was gone, but not truly gone—hidden. His lips curled in some semblance of a smile, and the corners of his eyes even crinkled a bit, but it was not genuine. “My darling of the generous heart. So full of concern for even the lowest creature on the planet. How shall I ever prove myself worthy of her?” His tone was light again: teasing. You tried not to roll your eyes. If he did not wish to tell you, then so be it. You could hardly force him to do anything he did not want to do.

“You might start by getting off of me before I freeze to the ground, my lord.”

The words had an immediate effect: the strange look on his face melted away, and was replaced by an easy grin. He lowered his mouth to your neck, and you felt him nosing through many layers of material until he finally found your skin. He breathed hot against your throat.

“But you look so lovely spread out like this against the snow. Why should I ever let you escape?” He took your skin gently between his teeth and growled. His happiness still felt too much like an act, something to distract you from his previous mood, but what other choice did you have but to let him hide behind it?

“Because if I am frozen down to my bones, then who will accompany you to the ball? Your brother?” You pushed gently on his chest, but he did not move. Perhaps he planned to spend the rest of the day with you on your back in the snow. The idea was less than appealing.

“You jest, my lady, but Thor is so very striking in a ballgown.” Loki flashed you a grin that belied the sorrow you had seen in him only minutes before and extended his hand to help you to your feet. “But of course he is not half as striking as you.”

“Please, my prince, you no longer have any need for such charm with me. You have already secured my affection. I am a certainty.” You busied yourself with dusting the snow from your clothes so you would not have to look him in the eye. When you did finally look up again, he was staring at you with a surprising intensity. Had you offended him somehow? It was still an instinctual reaction, asking yourself that question. But no, he was not angry, merely...determined.

“The day I fail to charm you is the day that you must walk away from me and never look back.” The tone of his voice kept you from interrupting him to protest. “Do not dismiss me. The monstrous way that I have treated you... If there was truly any justice, I would not be permitted to lay eyes on you. So allow me to atone. I shall beg you if I must.”

“No.” Truth be told, the idea of Loki begging you for anything was frightening. His eyes were large and earnest as he looked at you, but not quite so large and earnest that this could all be a trick. It was hard to make sense of things. The prince that stood before you now seemed completely different from the one who had thrown you onto a bed and thrust such foulness upon you. In many ways he was, in fact a changed man, but you could not deny that he had been horrifically cruel to you in the very beginning. Perhaps he had a point. You nodded and stepped closer to him to wrap your arms around his waist. “I know that I have nothing to fear from you, Loki. But what woman in her right mind would forbid you from charming her?” 

You felt him rest his chin on the top of your head. “Oh, you are the only woman who will have to bear that burden. You have my word.” His tone was less intense now. Finally whatever mood had taken hold of him seemed to be lifting. You buried your face in his chest to hide your smile and stood there quietly, listening to nothing more than the sound of his heart beating and the wind in the branches above your head.

***

When you went to dinner that night, there were a great many new faces. Additional tables had appeared, and nearly every seat in the room was filled. You nudged Loki, looking around at the near-dizzying sea of faces. “Are they all here for the ball?” Surely there had to be other events in other kingdoms, didn't there?

Loki seemed nonplussed by the crowd. “A great many of them, yes. The palace is always full of visiting nobles and the like, but I'd imagine that many of these people arrived this morning for the ball. Mother runs herself ragged for these things, but, as you can see, they are wildly popular.” He paused to pull out your chair—despite the large number of guests, your usual seats had been left available for you. “Have you ever been to one? Mother opens the gates to some of the nearby villages.”

You shook your head. “I was very young” Vaguely, you thought you could remember some flurry of activity when your village had been the one invited, but it had never seemed very important to you. Would it have made much of a difference, you wondered, if you had met Loki under different circumstances, at a different ball much earlier than that fateful night? At the time, you might have been young enough not to understand or to be unsettled by the difference between your stations. Would you even have recognized him as the young prince? You imagined your mother, alive and vibrant in a way she could never have been in reality, dancing with a tall but faceless man, someone as different from your father as a man could possibly be. You imagined slipping away from her, disappearing from the formal event and spending the night dancing and twirling through the corridors. If you were to spend time in such a fantastical thought, after all, why not go as far as you could?

“Have I lost you again?” His voice was low, but close enough that his breath made you shiver. You turned your head, face burning, to watch him take his seat. “Share your thoughts with me?”

“Please, it is nothing of interest.” For reasons unknown, you were reluctant to reveal your thoughts to him. Perhaps his child self was completely different from how you were imagining him. Perhaps you would inadvertently touch some sore spot about his childhood. If you had looked at his face, you might have seen his disappointment, but instead you reached to take his hand under the table.

“As you wish,” he murmured into your ear. It seemed almost too intimate a gesture for such a crowded room, but nobody seemed to notice. “I'll have you secrets and all, love.”

You were most certainly *not* flustered by his words. Still, rather than addressing them, you squeezed his hand under the table and went back to scanning the crowd. There were no familiar faces, but everyone was dressed so beautifully that it was hard not to stare. One woman in particular caught your eye: she wore a blue-grey dress made of some material that looked even finer than silk. The color of it made her skin glow richly. Her hair was thick and glossy, with fine silver chains and delicate braids snaking through her curls. She was perfect.

You stared at her for longer than etiquette likely called for, but there was something so familiar about her. Unfortunately, realization dawned several long seconds after the woman met your eyes. Eir did not seem to mind the way you were staring—no, gaping—at her. She smiled, as dignified as ever, and inclined her head at you. You ducked your own in response and tried to rein in your mingled excitement and mortification. 

Between enjoying the food placed before you and studying the new face that surrounded you, dinner passed quickly. It seemed as though you had hardly sat down before others were clearing the floor for dancing. One by one, the people at your table disappeared, revealing still more new faces for you to observe. You looked over towards your prince. He was speaking animatedly, describing some past battle in great detail. You tried not to listen to any of the details, but noted with a certain amount of pride that the people around him were listening intently. One man in particular caught your eye.

His face was at once soft and sharp: a wide, elegantly-pointed nose and noble cheekbones; caramel-colored eyes that seemed to observe and catalog everything around him; a strong jawline that clenched absently as he listened to Loki speak. His skin was the color of burnished copper and seemed to glow in the light of the hall. He looked like a sculpture of a much-loved king, enchanted to come to life. He was beautiful.

You did not have long to admire him, for soon you felt a tap on your shoulder. It was Thor. He offered you his hand with a look that did not invite refusal. Loki had not noticed: he was still deep in conversation with the stranger. It was silly to still feel this way about his brother: he had not said much to you at all since Issa had gone. What little he did say was relatively civil. So, trying not to grimace, you slipped your hand into his and allowed him to escort you into the middle of the dancing.

You did not speak, though your mind raced. Did he have something else to gloat about? Would he try to convince you that the winter ball was meant to find Loki a mate? Would he attempt to make amends for his past behavior? That last thought was nearly enough to make you smile wryly. You would settle for this chill civility. Let him attend to his own business, and you to yours. 

And still he said nothing. He wasn't even looking at you. You couldn't help but wonder what his intentions had even been if he so clearly did not want to be dancing with you. 

His grip was too tight. His fingers were locked around your hand, but they pinched. To anyone looking on, you were simply dancing together, but it was hard to keep your face neutral. He, of course, gave no indication that anything was wrong: he was all smiles and charm as the two of you whirled past the other dancers. His arm, where it wrapped around your back far from anything inappropriate, felt like an iron bar crushing you against him. Perhaps this was merely a show of power then. Fine.

You faltered a bit in your steps, and brought your foot down hard (but mostly by accident) on Thor's toes. The only indication he gave of having noticed was a tightening of his fingers around your hand. You could not help but wince this time. He looked gratified. A few moments later, you stumbled again.

“Graceless whore,” he hissed, but before he could say anything else, the man from the table appeared beside you.

“Excuse me, your highness. I trust you can forgive me for interrupting, but you have so many opportunities to dance with this fair lady, and I have yet to dance with her even once. Would you mind if I stole her away for a song or two?” 

If Thor's offer to dance had not invited refusal, this man's request flat-out forbade it. His face was carefully blank, but there was something about it that made even Thor think twice. What was it? Some subtle arch of an eyebrow, or else a tightness in his lips. Wordlessly, the prince released you and gestured for the man to step in. 

He nodded his thanks to the prince and took you in his arms. His fingers were warm, not crushing, and barely even seemed to rest against your skin. You could not even feel his arm at your back until he pressed lightly against you moments before pulling you into a whirl. 

“I must apologize for my forwardness,” he said in a low voice. “I don't often ask to dance with women before we've been introduced, but you looked as though you might appreciate an escape.”

You grimaced again. So much for keeping a straight face. “Prince Thor...does not quite know his own strength,” you said. “And I've not yet grown accustomed to it.” If you could not keep your face from showing your true feelings, at least you could keep your voice steady—perhaps even convincing.

He did not speak for several long moments, but when he did, his voice was thoughtful. “Clever girl.”

Unable to find a response, you merely let him lead you around the floor. He did not have the enchanted grace of Loki, but he moved without having to think about it. His eyes were half-lidded: did he not even need to watch his step?

As expected, you faltered once again, and stepped on his foot. His grip on you tightened, but the look of concern on his face made it clear that he was merely trying to prevent you from falling.

“Are you well?” He asked.

“I'm not much of a dancer. I know I should have improved by now, but...” You shrugged. You might have been able to laugh this off, except you knew your cheeks were flushed.

You were doubly blessed that he had whisked you away from Thor, because this man did not seize upon your embarrassment. He said nothing. You could not bring yourself to look at his face, but you were certain, somehow, that if you had, you would not have even seen so much as the slightest trace of a smile.

“You're thinking too—much,” he said. The sentence was oddly stilted, as though he hadn't been intending to speak it aloud and had tried to end the sentence prematurely, only to realize that would sound even worse. You knew the feeling. You glanced at him once, but the uncomfortable stiffness of his face sent your eyes skittering away. “A good leader will telegraph his moves to you before he's done them. All you have to do then is listen to the music and let it lead the both of you.”

Were it not for the horrifying impropriety, you could have hugged the poor man. His voice made it clear that he regretted ever saying anything—perhaps he even regretted having come to you in the first place. And still, to any outside observers, he remained the very picture of regal elegance. You still had much to learn.

“What of a bad leader, then?” You were pushing it, but after all this time with the dark-haired prince of mischief, how could some of his tendencies not have rubbed off on you? 

“Darling girl, a bad leader is not even worth the effort it takes to refuse him.” This was not the man before you, of course, but he was not overly surprised to see Loki standing beside the two of you. He stopped dancing immediately, lowered his arms, and bowed—but only slightly—to your prince.

“Are you a good leader, my lord, or a bad one?” You curtsied, solely to see his reaction. His eyes roved the length of your body, darkening somewhat as he grinned. 

“As though you'd ever dare to turn me down.” He offered his hand, and of course you placed your hand in his. “If I may, Baldur.”

The man—the one you'd been dancing with—nodded once. “Of course.” He caught you looking at him and tapped his temple twice before melting backwards into the crowd. Loki pulled you effortlessly against him and began to dance. He gave no signs of jealousy: he didn't hold you too tightly or move too quickly for you to catch up as he had in the past.

You were dying to know exactly why he seemed so unperturbed by your dancing with a strange man when dancing with Thor had once been enough to send him into a rage. But, unable to come up with exactly the right way to ask, you refrained. Still, you had to say something. “That man...” What should you say? 'Do you know him?' seemed like a silly question but 'who is he?' seemed so...ignorant.

“Is a long-time friend of the family. Baldur. If the golden prince had not been born, my father would likely have named him the heir.”

Very close, then. He spun you and pulled you back in close. “Are you not worried that he will steal me away from here?” By now you felt reasonably certain that he would not mistake you as being serious, but just in case, you worked your fingers through his hair. He all but purred at you.

“To do so would be to bring down war upon his realm.” He dropped tiny kisses along your neck, and thrills of pleasure ran through you. “If my father would not lead his men to battle, then I would ride alone. There would be no peace there until you were back where you belong.” In case there was any confusion, he held you tightly. 

Just as the man—Baldur—had said, Loki did offer clues as to where he would move the two of you next. A muscle would twitch ever-so-slightly, or he would tighten his fingers around your hand for just a moment. Perhaps you truly did think too much while you were dancing. You'd never noticed these signs before. “Have I some reason to doubt your fidelity?”

“No, my lord. Never.” Your voice was heated—perhaps moreso than this gentle teasing truly called for—but Loki's face softened all the same. 

“No, of course I haven't.” He kissed your forehead, an unexpected show of tenderness in such a public place. The music ended and he took a step backwards to bow to you. “Would you like to go somewhere more private with me?”

The request did not truly require a reply, and so you merely offered him your hand. The night air was more than just “cool” or “crisp” now—it was biting at best—so you were curious as to the prince's destination, but you walked with him through the grand corridor without speaking. The only people you came across were servants scurrying here and there carrying bed linens or pitchers of water. Most of the guests were still dining and dancing, after all.

Loki paused at one particular door and gave you a quick grin. “Where are we now?” Over time, this had become a sort of game for the two of you: he would lead you into the depths of the palace and then make you find your way back to your quarters, or else he would stop abruptly and ask you to name a room.

You did not recognize the corridor around you, nor the door. There were no sounds coming from inside (the first time he'd led you to the kitchens, a servant had dropped a dish just as you'd pressed your ear to the door). You looked at him uncertainly. How were you meant to know this? Loki's face gave nothing away, though he did quirk a smile and wink at you. 

“Admit that I have bested you, and I shall take pity on you.” He sounded too pleased with himself. You crossed your arms.

“I will not. It was not a fair challenge. I have never been to this wing of the palace. I'm quite sure I've never been inside this room before. How should I know what's inside?” This should not bother you, you knew, but your sense of pride was stinging.

He brought his mouth low, breathed hot against your ear. “My lady is displeased.” But he was unrepentant. You did not lean into him. You did not turn your head towards his. You would not give him the pleasure of your reaction. 

Which was, in and of itself, a reaction. He chuckled, low and dark, and nipped lightly at your earlobe. “We are still in my wing of the palace, precious dove. Does that help you?”

Though your knees threatened to wobble at his closeness and the affection in his voice, you held strong. “It tells me nothing, except that when I leave you here to revel in your own nonsense, I will not have quite as long a trip back to our room.”

He pulled you in closer, settling his hands against your waist. “There was a time, not so long ago, when you would have quivered at the thought of speaking to me in this way. Do you remember that?” He was swaying slightly, dancing with you here in the middle of the hallway to music that none but he could hear.

The part of you that still prickled with the unfairness of his challenge was tempted to remind him of just how different he once had been. To do so, you recognized, would have put a damper on this playful atmosphere, and so you refrained. Instead, you raised your arms to twine them around his neck. “Do you miss that time, my lord? Do you wish I were still that frightened, humble maid fresh-plucked from her home?” You tugged lightly on a fistful of his hair, and his eyes slipped closed. Bliss. “I could pretend, if that would please you.”

He growled in response, and, in one smooth movement, pinned you against the wall beside the doorway. “I'll have you however you offer yourself to me.” He barely gave you time to process his words before his mouth was slanting over yours, stealing away all conscious thought. It was just tongue and teeth and the way his hands gripped your body. But you had not forgotten where you were, or how he'd just made you feel. He should not get away with his trickery so easily. So you kissed him back even harder. You pushed yourself off of the wall and hard against his body. You nipped his lower lip and tugged too hard on his hair, until he was pulling away from you with panting breath and pupils blown wide.

“Open the door,” you said simply. Your heart was pounding, but your voice was steady. You held back your smile. He offered little resistance. He raised his hand to the ornate handle on the door and pushed it open. The room inside was cold and dim. It smelled stale, as though it had been long out of use. “I can see why it would be so important for me to identify this room,” you murmured, trailing your finger across the dusty top of an old desk. “It must be the center of your very existence here in the palace.”

“Such a sharp tongue on my beautiful woman.” He had hung back, towards the door. When you turned back to grin at him, the light caught the very edges of his face. He was exceedingly beautiful, if occasionally insufferable. “This place is your home. Is it not important that you know every inch of your home?” His eyes were too wide, his face too innocent. When he saw that you would not soften, he grinned at you. “If you want an apology from me, my lady, you'll have to catch me first.”

He closed the door to cut off the light and disappeared into the shadows. If you listened carefully, you could almost hear his footsteps or the faint rustle of his clothing, but as soon as your ears started to train in on one sound or another, he stopped moving. This was...absolutely foolish. You thought about pointing out the unfairness of this challenge as well: how were you supposed to move about quietly with all these layers of fabric rustling about? But instead you bit your tongue, gathered up your skirts, and moved softly in the direction where you'd last heard the prince.

The room was large and, though there were no torches or candles lit, the night outside was lit up brightly enough from the moonlight reflecting on the snow, that the bit of light coming in through the windows near the ceiling was enough. This must have been some kind of study, you decided. In addition to the desk, there were shelves—mostly empty now—and tapestries on the wall. You brushed against a statue once—someone you vaguely recognized as a former king—and had to grab it quickly to steady it. You heard soft laughter from behind you, but it had already faded by the time you could turn around.

Frustration rose in your chest, but you forced it back down, and found that soon it had been replaced with determination. He was tricky, your prince, but he was not actually perfect. Something skittered across the floor not far from you and you caught his muttered curse. A bucket—one that had once held firewood?—made a sound like thunder when he kicked it and he all but roared. Loki moved like a predator, but he did not have the eyesight of one, not in this cluttered old room. 

You began ducking behind shelves, around statues, certain that he was watching you as he prowled and anxious to make him lose sight of you. Before long, you told yourself that you could no longer feel his gaze on you. You did not, even for a moment, think yourself capable of overpowering the prince in any way, but if you could catch him off guard, that would be enough for your pride.

Opportunity struck. You came upon him peering out from behind a bookshelf. There was hardly a moment to catch your breath before you fell upon him. He must truly have been off his guard, distracted by trying to find you in the dark, because he stumbled and ended up sprawled on the ground beneath you. 

“Does this mean I get my apology?” You whispered against his ear. He was lying facedown, but, at your words, began to struggle against you. It didn't take long for him to manage to flip over, and then knock you to the ground, pinning you beneath him. His hair floated wildly out around his face, and he grinned at you. He looked like a madman.

“Oh, I apologize most ardently for the liberties I am about to take with you, my lady.”

No. This was your victory. When he lowered his head to kiss your neck, you knocked his elbows out from under him and did your best to roll him over again. It took some effort, but before long, you were sitting astride him again. His arousal pressed most conspicuously against you, and you were certain that you were blushing, but it was dark enough that you didn't truly mind. He arched his hips beneath you and snarled, but he was unconvincing. 

“You were saying, my lord?” Emboldened by the darkness and his tumescence, you moved your hips in a circle, grinding against him. He made a most undignified choking sound and let his eyes slip closed. When he opened them again, he gave no sign of the loss of control.

“I could have you whipped for such insolence.” But there was no venom to his words. One of his hands crept beneath your skirt and you felt his fingers brushing against you where you straddled him. “I could do it myself. I should bend you over that desk there and warm your bottom with my very hand.” Finally his fingertips touched skin. You couldn't bite back your sigh. His words had nothing to do with the heat pooling between your legs, but you could tell that he delighted in it anyway. His eyes widened and his lips curled into a smirk. “Would you like that, my lady?”

You would have protested, but just as you opened your mouth to utter a protest—remind him that you were a grown woman, not an impudent child—his fingers began to circle, and all you could manage was a low whine.

“After I was finished, as you stood there rosy and shivering in the darkness, I could slip myself inside you and replace all that pain with pleasure.” His voice was low. At some point, his other hand had also slipped beneath your skirts, but this one merely clutched at your thigh. His nails dug into your skin, but all that truly did was accentuate the lovely way his fingers were sliding against you.

“I don't—” Another half-hearted attempt to protest. This one he silenced by delving his fingers deep inside you. They plunged and twisted, stretching and exploring you. Before long, you found yourself leaning forward to brace against his chest. He pulled you down further until all of your weight was resting against him. His breath was hot against your ear.

“And just as I was getting close to finishing, love, I would pull you up against me until you were standing supported only by my arms and my cock, and I would whisper as many filthy things in your delicate ear as I could think of, until you were squirming and coming with me. I'd lower you back to the desk so I could watch my seed dripping out of you.” His thumb pushed you ever closer. His words should have made you deeply uncomfortable. They should have set your cheeks aflame and made you try to squirm away from him. But your face was already burning: not from embarrassment but from desire. “Would you like that, darling?”

The low richness in his voice—and even, maddeningly enough, some of the smugness—was the final piece. You tipped over the edge. He held you tightly against him and probed relentlessly as you struggled against the waves of pleasure. You were all but keening in his ear, and in return he spoke to you in low coaxing tones.

You laid there for several moments after your heartbeat had returned to normal, trying to gather yourself. “You should not speak to a lady in such a way,” you finally managed, and drew yourself up to a sitting position once again. He'd already extracted his fingers from you, but his hands had found your hips. “What if someone had heard? It's not proper.” As you spoke, you searched beneath your skirts for the fastener on his trousers. 

He smirked even wider when he realized what you were up to. “Then between my vulgarities and your screaming, surely the entire palace knows what we're up to in here.”

At one time, just the thought would have been shameful enough to douse the flame that burned inside you, But you relaxed into the presence of your prince. You were with a royal prince, in his wing of the palace, behind a closed door in a darkened room. Who would dare intrude? You freed his erection and wrapped your fingers around it. He drew in a sharp breath, his hips arching against your hands.

“I shall have to be much quieter next time, then,” you teased, moving your hand slowly and lightly along his length. One hand came down to grip yours, forcing you to hold him tighter and move faster. His eyes met yours. The intensity in them sent a shiver along your spine.

“Don't,” he spat. “I like to hear you. The whole world should hear you. The sounds you make when you're in the throes of pleasure.” He threw his head back against the stone floor, and you would have cringed if it weren't for the growl that rumbled through his very being. “The greatest honor is knowing that you allow me to help you make those noises.”

You pulled your hand away. You never quite knew what to do when he made himself this vulnerable to you. You valued it, of course, but it always seemed that, before long, he would slam himself closed again with a mischievous grin, as though it had all been a trick. Lifting yourself up a bit, you positioned yourself just so and then slowly sank back down onto him. He clutched at your hips with bruising force. In truth, you didn't mind.

He didn't say much as you moved, just clutched at you. You gripped his wrists, not so much to ease his grip as to maintain your balance. As a child, you would never have dreamed that this could happen: that you would ever find yourself astride a prince with the skirts of an elegant dress spread out on the floor around you, while he groaned and strained beneath you. He was saying something. After several long moments, you realized that it was your name. Your heart fluttered. He was growling your name. Your lips fell open, and you moved your hands to his chest to brace against him as you had before, as you redoubled your efforts.

One of his hands closed around the back of your neck and pulled you down to his chest again. In this position, it was harder to move, but that didn't matter, because he took charge. He moved with purpose, thrusting himself deeper and deeper inside you. The sounds he was making were inhuman. It was hard to breathe—all you could do was cling tightly to your prince and let him take you as he pleased.

After what seemed like an eternity—a perfect, delectable eternity—his voice became different. More urgent. He throbbed within you and hissed your name again, and then he was coming. 

Even after his hips stopped moving, he held you tightly. You listened to the sound of his breath, his heartbeat. One hand pressed hard against the small of your back, keeping you connected to him, while the other slid through the hair at the base of your neck. It seemed odd to think that a moment like this—when you were both sweating and breathless, with his cock still mostly erect inside you—could be so...tender, but it was. The urgency had gone out of his touch, the demand. He was touching you as absentmindedly as someone else might breathe, or blink. It stunned you into silence, and you lay there against him without moving.

“Did I hurt you, love?” His voice was low, and thick, as though he were just waking from a deep sleep. Not entirely trusting your voice, you shook your head. No. Parts of you were sore, perhaps, but no, no you weren't hurt. You reached up and combed trembling fingers through his hair. The hand that he'd been touching your hair with, he used to press your chin up so he could get a better look at you. Even in the darkness, you could see the crease between his eyebrows. You smiled, and his face relaxed.

“All is well, my lord.” Slowly, reluctantly, you rose back into a sitting position. He arched his hips high against you and smirked. “Shall I take that to mean that you're feeling yourself again?”

“Indeed I am,” he replied, with a wink that made you giggle despite yourself and avert your eyes. “Though I'd much rather be feeling you instead.” With very little warning, he sat up and toppled you over backwards. For an instant, your world was nothing but a dizzying confusion of shapes and motion, but then he was stretched out on top of you with one hand protecting the back of your head from the hard tile. He met your eyes and grinned. “There. This is much better.”

“Loki—” But of course you could not be angry with him. “What's gotten into you?”

“The knowledge that you are mine.” He pressed his lips to yours and kissed you so deeply and intently that it stole your breath away. When he pulled back again, he continued. “And that I am yours.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but found that you could not. His words were simple. You'd both said them before—multiple times, in fact. You had actually started to believe them. So it was not the words themselves, but the way he said them. Even now, his face was soft and almost reverent, and yet he was looking at you with...disbelief. You bit your lip and combed your fingers through his hair again.

“After all that time, such a thought still merits such a reaction?” You smiled gently, but pushed against his chest. “I should like you to take me to bed, my prince.” And before he could smirk at you, or offer some vulgar response: “To sleep. And hopefully recuperate from tonight's...performance.” 

He was quiet for a moment, perhaps considering your request, and then nodded. “As you wish.” You fought back a shiver when he pulled away from you, and then took his hand when he offered to help you to your feet. 

Once the two of you were outside of the room, with the doors closed securely behind you, Loki turned to you.

“I have a confession to make.” He did not sound overly contrite, but you took his hand. “We are not in my wing of the castle right now.” You raised your eyebrows. A mask slipped down over his face: you recognized that wide-eyed innocence and woeful apology. “That was my father's old study.”

“Loki!” You moved to smack his chest, but he'd already stepped backwards, out of reach. “Loki!” 

The grin he shot you before turning around to run from you was so self-satisfied and pleased that it was practically a sin. It invited—no, demanded—a chase, and you gleefully obliged. You chased him all the way back to his wing of the castle, and his laughter echoed off of the walls and high ceilings that surrounded you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm letting Loki slip more and more out of character as these chapters go on. Or maybe he's just becoming my own character, and therefore becoming more and more like himself. It's just very, very important to me that everyone understands that early Loki--angry and possessive and demanding--is not romance. When I started this story, I intended for it to be a dark, unromantic story where Loki's actually awful and their relationship is pointedly unhealthy. But it's more fun to write a real romance, so I couldn't keep that up. (Remember, for most of its existence, I really only meant for this story to be self-indulgent nonsense.) Also, early on, I got a comment that derisively compared this story to 50 Shades, which...chafed. A lot. So there went that plan.
> 
> I don't want to get preachy about the dynamics of a healthy relationship, but that's why he's becoming more self-aware. I don't think Marvel canon Loki knows much about this kind of shame (because surely everything he does is justified in his mind), but I've moved beyond Marvel canon. I hope you're still enjoying this!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid I may be becoming a broken record at this point, but, to those of you still reading after all this time, _thank you_. I take so long to update this story because I know that I owe all of you the best chapter possible. Sometimes I don't think I can live up to the sweet comments so many of you leave me. I'm kind of a perfectionist, which means sometimes I can't even approach the next chapter because I'm so certain it'll come out awful.
> 
> This is not me fishing for more compliments! This is just me explaining my...process.
> 
> I can tell you that I'm already working on the next chapter in my head. I'm really looking forward to writing it, even if I can't get it exactly right for you.
> 
> I can also tell you that I have read, re-read, and probably re-re-read every single comment on this story. They give me life and humble me all at the same time. It is such an honor to know that so many kind people are enjoying this story. If you're reading this, I can't even find the words to thank you. You are so important. You are a big part of the reason this story has gone on for so long. I hope you all experience at least ten times the amount of happiness you've brought me.

Your blankets were gone, and his mouth was on you.

You might have been a bit happier about the latter, if the former wasn't such a pressing issue. Before you even opened your eyes, you chafed your hands along your upper arms, trying to ease the goosebumps away. Before Loki had spoiled you so badly with his thick blankets and luxurious cloaks, you would have been used to the cold, and therefore the air in the room would barely even have been bracing. But this morning, you could feel goosebumps along every inch of exposed skin. 

You groaned softly—more of a whine, really—and opened your eyes blearily in the grey light of morning. Loki was on his belly between your legs, but rather than teasing you awake with his mouth and tongue at the very apex of your thighs, he was pressing gentle kisses to your hips. He started on one side of your body, his lips like the tickling of a moth's wings, and then moved across your lower belly, dropping kisses along the way, to the other side.

“Loki, it's cold...” Your voice was croaky with sleep. You cleared your throat, knowing all the while that it would take some hot tea before you sounded like yourself again.

He didn't speak, only reached down behind him to grasp one of the blankets and pulled it up and over the two of you. It hid his face from your view, but you could still feel him continuing his solemn trek across the rounded swell of your belly. Only now, it tickled.

You lifted the blanket up over your own head and gazed down at him. “What are you doing?”

“The marks,” he answered, as though it should have been obvious. He pressed his fingertips against a tender spot on your skin—bruises, then. From last night. “I've marked you.”

You reached down to push his fingers away, but he'd already replaced them with his lips. You ended up stroking his cheek. “You've marked me before,” you laughed. “You're usually proud of it.”

He scowled up at you, but the effect was somewhat lessened by the messiness of his hair. He did not look particularly threatening: more...like someone who had only just awakened. He looked more precious and grumpy than angry. You tried not to smile.

“When it's intentional. I did not mean to hurt you last night, and yet look at the damage I've done.” You opened your mouth, trying to think of a way to assure him that you were perfectly fine, but he pushed forward bitterly, stopping your protest. “Leaving such marks without thought. I'm no better than your drunkard father.”

Where was this coming from? You cupped his face in your palms and gently tugged him up along your body until his face was more or less level with yours. “Loki. Did I protest last night?Did I, even once, cry out in pain or even discomfort?” He wouldn't meet your eyes. Anger surged in you—you were no fragile doll, no coddled child. “If you think, even for a moment, my lord, that what you did to me last night is at all the same as what he did to me, then... Then you dishonor me.” Still he did not speak. His face was tight, uncomfortable. “These are welcome battle wounds, my Loki, and I will wear them with pride.”

Finally, at the sound of his own words echoed back to him, he looked into your eyes. You caught the briefest flicker of shame, but then, just as it had yesterday in the snow, it disappeared. Mostly. In a different situation, some arrogant smirk might have slid across his face, or he might have offered some playful threat, but this morning he merely pressed his lips against yours.

You did not miss the careless, cruel prince of the past, but neither did you resent him. Over time, your Loki had become a source of strength and surprising warmth (though of course he still refused to show it to anyone else on the palace grounds). When you thought back on him, it was rather like considering a childhood nightmare. At the time, he had been frightening. At the time, you had believed yourself to be in grave danger. With time and distance from the source of your fear, you now knew that this was no longer the case.

As for the unpleasantness itself, his cruelty, you had not spent much time wishing it away. It had happened. Just as various other horrible things had come to pass in your life, his immature coarseness had happened—and then passed. But now, for the first time in a long time, you found yourself wishing that things had been different. If the early days of your stay in the palace had been kinder, then perhaps you could have been spending this morning in a sleepy embrace with your prince. 

You sighed. You didn't have the words to soothe him. He could speak so prettily, and say things that made your blood buzz and thrum in your ears, but you never felt quite certain of anything. But you still had to try. The alternative was...to allow him to look at you like that. 

“Loki. If I were given the choice to remain unbruised at the cost of the pleasure we shared last night, I wouldn't hesitate for even a moment before turning it down.” You worked your fingers gently through a knot in his hair. “Please don't do this to yourself, my prince. I would gladly accept a hundred more such bruises from you, if you could promise that each one would be inflicted in a similar manner.” Finally he raised his eyes to yours again, and you couldn't help but smile. “Would you like me to prove it to you?”

“Desperately so, my lady.” Some small tension had dropped from his face, but he still did not look quite like himself. He closed his fingers around your wrist (treating it, you noted with displeasure, as though it were made of glass rather than flesh and bone) and turned to press a lingering kiss into the palm of your hand. “But perhaps another time. Would you like to watch the snow fall?”

Before you could answer, he was sliding away from you and off of the bed. When he stood, he wrapped two thick blankets and a heavy fur around his shoulders. This was yet another distraction. You'd gotten too close. Your conversation had been too personal for the prince. Rather than pointing that out or, worse, pressing the matter, you crawled out of the bed as well. Looking pleased, Loki settled himself in the seat in the windowsill and extended his arms to you. An invitation. The rich colors and textures of the covers silhouetted his lithe, pale body in a way that made you blush and look away, but you were soon sitting between his legs, leaning back against his cool chest. The draft from the window was icy, but he made sure to keep the covers tucked tightly around the two of you, and you were warm enough.

He breathed a sigh—relief, perhaps, or simply comfort—and pressed a kiss to the back of your head. Thick flakes of snow were falling outside, drifting past the window in lazy patterns as though they were not in any terrible hurry to get much of anywhere. Here and there, a draft of wind sent the flakes flying upwards and howled against the palace walls. The scene outdoors served only to emphasize the coziness you felt in Loki's arms. Here and there you dozed, waking when you felt him kiss your head again, or else your neck, or your shoulder. It was quiet.

That was how Sindri found you not much later, when she came with breakfast.

***

By the time you had eaten and dressed (a warm riding suit today instead of a dress), Loki appeared to be back to normal. There was no trace of that tightness in his face, none of the self-loathing that had been there this morning. He wasn't even boisterously loud or jovial. Just the same calm, self-assured prince that you had come to know.

The path to the stables had been mostly cleared of snow, save for the fresh layer that had fallen that morning. In the village, there were mostly dirt paths to and from everywhere, which quickly became slushy messes of ice and melted snow, but here you walked on stones that had been laid out to circumvent that very type of situation. The sun had yet to break through the heavy blanket of winter clouds so, although there were patches of ice here and there, the tops had not thawed enough to become a slick layer of water. 

As you approached the stables, you caught the sound of laughter on the wind. Aurok was in the paddock with some of the horses, running between them and away from them. They caught him easily, and when one nudged his shoulder, he would turn and bury his face in its neck, patting it solidly and then turning to run again. You leaned against the fence as you watched him. Aurok was quite like a horse himself, with his strong legs and flowing black mane. He seemed perfectly at ease there with the horses, and they with him. One of the smaller horses, white with large brown spots, planted itself directly in his path and pawed the ground with one of its front hooves, but even from this distance you could see the way its ears perked forward. You felt yourself smiling.

Aurok looked in your direction and, though you were too far away to see his face, you couldn't miss the way all of the energy seemed to drain from his body. That seemed odd, and even off-putting to you: he'd never reacted that way when you'd come to visit Nanna. You stood up off of the fence as he hurried towards you, and that was when you remembered that Loki was standing behind you. You turned to check on him, but he was not scowling at the stablehand. He was looking at you. He just barely startled, as though he hadn't expected you to turn around and catch him, but then the barest hint of a smile made its way across his face.

“Forgive me, my lord. I was not told that you would be riding this morning, or else I'd have your horses tacked up and waiting.”

“You could not have known,” Loki said simply, and disappeared into the stables. You could not tell whether the odd expression Aurok wore was a lingering effect of his uneasiness, or surprise at the prince's response. It did seem strangely mild from the man who preferred people to think of him as a monster.

“We'd only just decided to go riding,” you explained as the two of you followed Loki into the stable. Inside, it was warmer than you would have expected, given that it housed only animals. The warmth was more than it seemed even this many horses could produce: you had to loosen your cloak a bit and lower your hood. “I didn't think to ask him to send anyone to tell you. I'm sorry.”

“Please, there's no need for you to apologize.” He disappeared off down a small hallway for a moment and then reappeared holding a saddle. “This is why I'm here. Won't be but a few minutes.”

You turned to look at Loki. He was standing in front of Nanna's stall, reaching his hand out to her. She lowered her mouth to accept something from him. A sugar cube? As quietly as you could, you came up behind him and pressed your forehead against his back. “What are you doing?” 

“Bribing your horse with sweets,” he answered. You could hear the smile in his voice.

Your horse. You couldn't stop yourself from smiling. You had a horse. And she was beautiful. As though she knew you were thinking about her, she made that same low growling sound and stretched her neck out to find you. She reached past Loki and nibbled at your sleeve. 

“He's the one with the treats, Nanna,” you said, but stepped closer to stroke her velvety nose. As soon as you touched her, her ears relaxed backwards. Familiarity with this horse had lessened your fear of horses in general. Nanna was patient and gentle. She never bucked and seldom ran faster than you wanted her to. There was so much power rippling beneath her glossy coat, but she never used it to harm or frighten. Before you really knew what you were doing, you had leaned forward to kiss the paler stripe that ran between her eyes. She snorted, a single huff that tickled the front of your neck, and after a moment, twisted her head away. Your heartbeat quickened, but before you had time to step away, she was nibbling at the string of your cloak, her ears still flopped backwards.

Loki pulled you closer. “I can see now that it would take a great deal more than sugar cubes to steal her affection from you.” His breath was warm on your ear. You stood there for just a bit longer before Aurok cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I can get her ready now—that is, the horse, whenever you're...finished.” 

“Oh! Yes, please.” You stepped away from the door to her stall and tugged lightly on Loki until he moved as well. “Thank you, Aurok.”

He met your eyes for only the briefest of moments, but you caught his smile before he turned all of his attention to the horse. You could only watch with fascination, and try to stay out of his way, as he moved about the stables and got your horse ready to ride. When he had finally finished, he beckoned to you with his head as he lead Nanna out into the snow. The two of you followed, and before long, you were riding through the grounds with your prince.

The wind was sharp against your cheeks. Though it howled through the trees around you and blew stinging ice crystals into your face here and there, it did not make it through your many layers of warm clothing. Every once in a while, Loki would slow his horse to drop back and ride beside you. Conversation was not easy, so for the most part you simply rode together. Sometimes he would lean over or call your name to catch your attention so he could point out an animal's tracks in the snow or a bird sitting amongst the bare branches overhead. Other than the birds, there weren't many animals around you. Hibernating, most likely, or else they were simply hunkered down somewhere waiting for the snow to melt. You did not envy them. Around this time in the village, parts of roofs would start to collapse, or else leak. Everyone was in a foul mood, and even the celebrations could not completely lift their spirits. It was hard to be cold and hungry so much of the time. You sent your thoughts and warm regards to the friends you'd left behind. You hoped they were doing well.

At one point Loki took off his gloves and thrust them towards you. The easy kindness of his gesture made you pause (you wondered if he had ever done something like that before you'd met him), but you would not accept them. Your warm mittens, lined with the same soft fur as your cloak and boots, were keeping you plenty warm enough. He said something, but the wind ripped his words away before they could reach your ears. Wraping the reins cautiously around one wrist, you tugged off a mitten and leaned to touch his cheek. Your hand was almost warm enough to be sweating, made to feel even warmer by the iciness of his skin. If anything, you should have been offering more clothing to him.

But he persisted, his face set with determination. When he tried one more time to press his gloves into your hands, you nudged Nanna forward. She was only too happy to take off into a trot. When he caught up to you, he was wearing the gloves again.

The horses noticed that something was amiss long before either of you did. The wind died down a bit, but you didn't have time to be thankful. Nanna began to move erratically, slowing down and then bursting into a trot without warning. Loki's horse kept stopping short, so that you had to twist Nanna away to keep from running into him. He pawed at the ground and snorted loudly.

That's when you heard the growling.

At first you thought it was the wind picking up again. The way Loki's shoulders jerked back, and the way he spun his horse around to look behind you quickly let you know that you were wrong. You tried to turn Nanna around to look, but she wouldn't budge, so you were forced to turn at your waist and crane your neck. Wolves. Four wolves, all skinny enough that you could have counted their ribs. And all eyeing the two of you.

“Stay on your horse,” Loki commanded, as he eased himself to the ground. One of the wolves started toward him, but he took a step forward first and roared at it, and it fell back. You started to protest—why was he on the ground then? Couldn't your horses outrun a pack of starving wolves? “Stay. On. Your bloody horse.” He didn't even turn his head to look at you. The snarl in his voice made your mouth snap shut. He took another step towards the wolves, throwing his arms up into the air and making his body look as big as possible. The two smallest wolves dropped back even further, but the others were unimpressed. 

Nanna finally let you turn her, though of course you wished she hadn't. It gave you a clearer view of your predicament. The wolves were starving, yes, but they were large. And there were more of them than there were of you. Nanna gave a low whinny, which drew the attention of three of the wolves. One of them—not the biggest, but also not the smallest—crept a bit closer, keeping its eyes locked on your horse. Loki drew a dagger from his belt and shouted something, which made three of the wolves back up even further, but that one just kept getting closer. You clutched at the reins. Nanna was shifting around, swaying her rump in a way that was making it difficult to stay on her. At the same time, her whole body had gone stiff beneath you. Standing still in the cold couldn't be good for her muscles, but there was nothing you could do for that now. “Get back on your horse,” you pleaded with your stubborn prince. “We can outrun them.”

“You never run from a wolf,” he snapped. He was edging closer to you, trying to put himself between you and the wolf in motion. “I don't care how underfed these curs are, they're not getting a taste of you. Or Nanna.”

Nanna's ears were pinned back flat against her head, and you had the uncomfortable sensation that she was somehow swelling beneath you. A moment later, your whole world became a flurry of motion:

1\. The wolf, suddenly leaping at you with a snarl,  
2\. Loki, throwing himself directly at the wolf, and  
3\. Nanna, rearing backwards onto her hind legs

Instinctively, you threw yourself forward and wrapped your arms around her neck. Any comfort you might have been trying to give her was surely negated by the fact that you were screaming Loki's name. One misplaced hoof, one accidental kick, and he was done for. And that wasn't even taking into account what the wolf could do to him. Nanna was tossing her head and swaying as though she were trying to shake you off, but your grip was iron. You forced yourself to take several deep breaths even though your heart was racing. Loki was not the most pressing issue here. The most pressing issue here was Nanna, and the fact that she seemed ready to drop any minute. If she'd kicked Loki, he'd need your help. You couldn't help him if your horse rolled over onto you and crushed your legs.

You pulled fruitlessly on her reins to try to make her back up, but it only made her toss her head even more furiously. Finally you spoke to her, miraculously managing to keep your voice a hell of a lot calmer than you were actually feeling. You had no idea what you were saying, but your tone must have worked, because Nanna finally settled back onto all four hooves. You hardly had any time at all to be thankful for that. Loki was wrestling with the wolf that had jumped at you. You could only look on in horror as the others, seeing that their brother or sister needed help, fell upon them as well. What could you do? You had no weapon. You had no fighting skills. Loki's dagger must have found purchase somewhere, because you heard a sickening yelp and the smallest fell back, but the other three were still desperately engaged in the fight.

Nanna reared back again, and this time you were too distracted by the battle to react in time. You clawed through the air looking for something, anything, to hold onto as she threw you backwards to the ground. You heard another yelp, and then another, and then everything went silent.

Quickly, you tested out each of your limbs. They all worked just fine. Nothing was broken. Your backside was sore, you may have twisted an ankle, and there was a little twinge in your side when you breathed, but you would survive all that. You pulled yourself onto your hands and knees (you knew your legs would never hold you) and dragged yourself toward the mess of blood and snow in front of you. Loki was lying there, but all of the wolves had taken off. Perhaps Nanna had landed a few blows.

Loki was a mess: his hair was matted with blood and his clothes were in a disarray. One of his gloves was shredded, and his cloak was stained, and one of the beasts had taken a large chunk of his trousers and—you winced—left a nasty bite wound in his leg. But even that seemed superficial. If it was possible, he didn't seem to be badly hurt.

“I thought I told you to stay on your bloody horse.” He sounded exhausted. As you gaped at him, he cracked his eyes open to fix you with a glare that seemed only half-serious.

“I tried,” you said. “She threw me off. While she was saving your hide, I'll bet. Do you need help sitting up?”

He seemed to take a long time to consider your words. “What kind of a man would turn down—” The words started out strong enough, but he cut himself off with a wince. There had to be more injuries somewhere that you couldn't see. Your hands hovered near his body: you wanted so badly to touch him, but you weren't willing to risk hurting him. “If you're offering.”

Carefully, you slid your arms under his and helped him sit up. Then you just looked at him. If you asked, would he tell you where he was hurt? Was he that much worse than you'd initially thought?

“You scared the wolves off,” you said brightly. Too brightly. Your voice was too high, too...artificial. You just wanted to be back at the palace. He shook his head.

“No, love, that was your horse, when she started stomping the mongrels into the ground.” He wrapped one arm around his middle and began to struggle to his feet. You were there immediately to help him. “One of them knocked the wind out of me when she kicked it. I'll be fine in a moment.” He did already seem to be breathing easier. He managed a smile that looked more like a wince and reached out to touch your face. “Are you hurt?”

You pressed your hand against his, keeping it in place, and shook your head. “I thought she was going to crush you.” Your voice was small.

“It shall take much more than the likes of a single horse to drag me away from you.” He spoke with more confidence than he should have, considering the ordeal you had just been through. He pulled you closer and kissed you softly. “Remember that, darling. I swear it.”

“Your words are pretty, my lord, but a horse's hoof is much more solid.” You pulled his hand away (pressing a kiss to the center of his palm) and turned your attention to Nanna. Her tail was still flicking anxiously, and when you approached her ( _slowly...slowly..._ ), she tossed her head and backed away, but when she saw that it was only you, she lowered her head. You reached out ( _no sudden movements, It's just me, Nanna_ ) to stroke her muzzle, and she pressed her head more solidly against your touch. After a few calm moments of stroking and your soft murmurs, you heard her sigh heavily. It sounded like relief.

When Loki's hands settled upon your hips, you were still just worked up enough to flinch. He didn't seem to mind; he just rested his chin on your shoulder. “Your words are just as pretty, and look what they've done for your solid horse.”

This was your least favorite argument. A man, no matter how maddeningly stubborn he could be, simply could not muscle his way past death. He would not be able to pull you back from the precipice if you lost too much blood during childbirth, he would not be able to save himself from becoming crushed under a horse, and he could not ride through a battlefield raising dead soldiers like plucking flowers from a garden. But he would not listen to reason. So you said nothing.

He must have recognized this tactic, because he sighed and stepped away. Right away you missed the solidness of him behind you.

“It pains me to cut our peaceful ride short, but what would you say to returning to the palace?” Loki asked. He grunted as he mounted his horse. You drew in a steadying breath (she will probably not throw me again) and followed suit. You flinched again as Nanna flicked her tail, but all four hooves remained steadily on the ground.

“I would say that that is a wonderful idea, Loki,” you answered. By now you were fantasizing about the fireplace back in your quarters. Sitting before it wrapped in several furs and blankets on that thick warm rug (or perhaps a cushion or two), basking in the heat of the fire. Perhaps sipping tea? 

The two of you led your stiff horses back the way you'd come. All of your senses were on high alert—every sound became a pack of wolves with sharp teeth and hungry eyes. If Loki noticed your tension, he did not tease you for it. Though it was more likely that he didn't notice it: though he glanced back at you frequently, they were only glances: checking to be sure that you were still close behind, but nothing more lingering than that.

Only when you were once again safely within the palace gates and the horses had been turned over to Aurok did you breathe a sigh of relief. Loki was still quiet. At first you thought he was angry with you for some reason, but when you looked over at him, you saw how tight his face was. “Are you...? What is it?”

You watched as he tried to brighten his face, and then gave up when he realized you'd already caught him. “The ride jostled my leg a bit,” he confessed in a low tone. 

“We should find Eir when we get inside.” You slipped your arm around his waist to help support him as you walked. He drew in a breath, but it was your turn to interrupt him this time. “You're hurt. She's a healer. Surely you haven't forgotten how she saved your life the last time she was here?”

“I remember that you tied me to the bed.” You didn't even need to look at him to know that he was leering at you. “I suppose I could be convinced to see that woman, if you can promise similar treatment.”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly as you finally set foot inside the palace. There was a servant standing not far from the entrance. His eyes widened at the sight of you. “Could you find the healer, please? The Lady Eir? We...we could use her help.” You flashed the boy a weary smile, and he nodded before disappearing down the corridors.

***

It seemed that you had only just gotten Loki settled on the bed when Eir knocked on the door. When she stepped into the room, she was just as beautiful as ever, and carrying a large satchel with her. “The boy didn't specify exactly what was wrong,” she explained as she hefted it to the ground. “With the princes, it is always better to be overprepared.”

“It has been years since either of us has fallen due to our own mischief,” boomed a familiar voice. Your heart sank a bit as Thor stepped into the room. Clearly they'd been spending time together again. But he hardly even looked at you, and instead focused his attention on his brother. Well. That was perfectly fine. “What have you done this time?”

“It's nothing,” Loki said, waving his hand through the air dismissively. “A scratch. We stumbled across a pack of wolves, and they mistook our horses for delicious morsels.”

“Looks like they got a chunk out of you,” Eir said, studying the wound. “It isn't very deep, but it needs to be cleaned.” She began to rummage through her pack. Without being asked, you hurried into the washroom to fill a basin with hot water. When you brought it to her, she looked surprised, then grateful. “And you, my lady? Were you hurt?”

“Me? No.” You shook your head. You didn't exactly want to point out the fact that Loki had risked his life for yours, especially not in front of Thor. You didn't want to give him any more reason to dislike you. “I'm just a bit sore, but it's hardly anything to be worried about.” But Eir's dark eyes were still fixed on you. She knew there was more to your story. You held out for as long as you could, but it felt wrong to lie to her. “Nanna threw me off, but I landed in a snow drift.”

Loki wriggled out of his trousers. He didn't seem to mind that he had an audience. “Check her ribs. She was riding strangely on the way back.”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times. How would he know if you'd been riding strangely? He'd barely even looked at you. “I'm fine,” you insisted, holding up your arms as though you could ward off her attention. “I know what a broken rib feels like, and this...isn't...that.” You'd said too much. Loki's face was tight with anger. Eir looked concerned. Thor looked interested. You shouldn't have said anything. You should have kept your mouth shut and just hoped Eir would forget about whatever injury you might have had. You turned away from all of them and began to remove your outer layers of clothing. 

Eir was talking to Loki with a hushed voice, but you very pointedly made sure not to listen to them. You were becoming more comfortable here, but that did not mean that you needed to bring up your sordid past. Your injured ankle—the one you'd twisted when you fell—was aching and itching all at the same time. You sank into the chair by the fireplace to remove your boots, but couldn't quite bring yourself to put forth the effort. Instead, you sat quietly, staring into the flames. They were hypnotizing. You could have sat there all afternoon.

But your ankle was driving you mad. Perhaps it would be best to get the boot off of your foot before the swelling made that impossible. With a quiet groan, you sat forward and halfheartedly reached to remove your boots. The first came off easily, but when you pulled the other off—the one on your injured ankle—you nearly cried out with pain. This boot was slick with something other than melted snow. It was dark, and sticky. What could it possibly...? You held your hands up to inspect them, and the substance was immediately obvious. Blood. Without a second thought about Thor still standing nearby, you stood and pulled your leggings down from under your skirts, kicking them away. Someone—Loki or Thor—said something, but their words were lost in the rush of blood through your ears as you caught sight of the mess that was your leg. You did hear Eir's exclamation though, and she rushed to your side.

“You said you weren't hurt! Sit down. Let me see.” A gentle pressure was all it took to seat you back in the chair, and then Eir was kneeling and pulling your ankle into her lap to inspect it.

“I didn't know... I thought I'd sprained it. I'm sorry. I must have hit a rock when I fell, or ice, or...?” How could you have missed this? 

Eir shot a look towards Thor, who jumped into action without hesitation. He brought her the bowl, and she began to clean away the blood. Now that there wasn't so much to distract you, the pain was setting in. You did your best to breathe deeply and tried not to think about it.

“This is a bite,” Eir said. Her voice sounded strange. “My lady, you were bitten by a wolf, and you didn't even notice?”

“I'm sorry,” you said again, miserably. All this fuss over you when Loki was still in need of healing. “There was so much happening. I was trying not to fall off the horse, and I didn't want her to trample Loki, and...”

“You said the horse threw you off.” Thor leaned forward to get a better look at your wound. Eir was correct, of course: now that most of the blood had been cleared away, you could make out the bite mark. “Did she throw you or did you fall?”

“She threw me,” you said, just a bit too testily. It shouldn't matter to you if he thought you were bad at riding horses. As far as you were concerned, it was perfectly fine if he never thought about you, ever. But you couldn't stop yourself before adding: “The second time. The first time she bucked, I held on and got her back on the ground.” You flinched away when Eir dabbed something onto the open wound. “I think I was just so worried about getting Loki back here safely that I didn't notice anything else.”

You looked over at the bed. Loki had moved to the end of the bed to watch the proceedings. His face was a stormcloud. “We never should have gone riding today,” he spat. “Between the cold and the beasts—” 

“It was my idea,” you quickly reminded him. It had been. You'd wanted to get out of the palace for a time: enjoy the fresh (though frigid) air and visit with Nanna.

“But I never should have agreed. You could have been killed.”

“I thought death was no match for the indomitable will of His Royal Highness Prince Loki?” You meant it in jest, but he didn't smile. The only sign he gave of even having heard you was the way he met your eyes: quickly, guiltily. “My Loki. You're much worse off than I. Did you know he leapt in front of four hungry wolves?” The latter was directed towards Eir, who had begun wrapping bandages around your ankle. She gave a short, quick laugh.

“That sounds right. Never one to back down from a challenge.” She tied off the bandage and lowered your foot gently back to the rug. “Much of my early practice came from stitching and bandaging these two after their scuffles. The stories I could tell you.” She looked as though she wanted to say more, but then glanced in Thor's direction. He had been watching her—and you—with a strange expression on his face. “But perhaps later.”

She patted your knee gently and stood, then went back over to Loki to finish checking on him. You hated that you'd drawn her away from his injuries, but at least you were bandaged now. A wolf bite. In all your life, you never could have predicted this. But then, what was there about your current life that you could have predicted? 

“There. Now, provided you both stay out of the path of more wolves or the other beasts of the world outside, you should be plenty healed enough to dance tonight.” Eir straightened up. You remembered how quickly Loki's grave wounds had healed under her care—almost as though it were magic—and smiled. It seemed that Eir could grow skin where there had been none, and she could do it in a matter of hours. You wouldn't have minded not being able to dance tonight, but you were glad that you'd be able to go.

Eir gathered up her things and put them carefully back into her pack, and then patted Thor's chest. It struck you as odd—but not necessarily unexpected—that he could be so nonthreatening to someone else when just the sight of him was enough to make you nervous. You stood up as they were leaving, and joined Loki on the edge of the bed. If your attention hadn't been so focused on your prince, you might have caught the odd look—almost...respectful—that Thor gave you on his way out the door.

Not long after the door closed, you nudged him in the side. He was still staring into the fire, and would not raise his eyes to your face. “Hey.” Still nothing. You sighed and held up your foot so the bandage just peeked out from under your skirts. “We'll have matching scars,” you ventured. Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say. Loki pulled himself up, off of the bed. His face was set in a scowl. “What is it?” But he still didn't answer: instead, he began pacing back and forth. You really wished he'd sit down, not just because he was making you nervous, but also because of his wound. “Loki, you're frightening me.”

He stopped in his tracks and glanced at you. “Forgive me.” But the words sounded automatic. You waited. Perhaps he would speak further if you remained quiet. He just started pacing again. “You shouldn't have been hurt in the first place,” he finally said.

“If this is about me falling off of my horse—” 

“This has nothing to do with that,” he growled. “You were hurt while you were still on your damned horse. Because I told you to stay there.”

You laughed—short and quick and utterly without humor. This was what was upsetting him? You stood and went over to him, but when you reached out to touch his hand, he yanked his arm away. That stung, but you reached for him again anyway. “The beast could only reach my ankle because I was still on my horse, Loki. What do you think would have happened if I had been on the ground with you, the way I'd intended?”

Surely he'd considered that already? But his eyes narrowed, and then he looked at you with dawning realization. Had he not? Had his thoughts about the events of the morning been so all-consuming that he hadn't taken a moment to think about what else could have happened? He raised your hand to his lips while you tried not to laugh.

“My lady is wise,” he finally said, sinking down into the chair before the fireplace. You might almost have called his tone sheepish. You perched on the arm of the chair, careful not to put your weight on his lap.

“My lord was troubled.”

And that was that. You sat together for the rest of the afternoon, gazing into the dancing flames, until the growing gloom outside the window drew your attention.

“The hour is growing late,” you said, and ran your fingers carefully though Loki's matted hair. “And we are still...filthy. We should bathe.”

Loki, who was resting his head against the high back of the chair, did not even open his eyes. “Whatever for? I have captured the affections of the only person in the realm who matters to me. Whom else am I trying to impress?”

You tried not to let his words get to you, though they did make your stomach tighten pleasantly. “And what would your mother think if you were to show up at this celebration looking like this?” You patted his chest. “Come, my prince. I shall draw you a bath.”

You slid off of the chair, but it troubled you to note that you did not hear Loki's footsteps behind you. Still, you set about filling the tub with clean, warm water. He could not possibly be serious about showing up looking so frightful, could he? You sighed, already anticipating the delicious feeling of the hot water against your skin, and slowly began to strip your clothing away. You peered through the doorway: Loki was still sitting in the chair. Very well. You got into the tub alone The water was every bit as perfect as you'd hoped. You couldn't stop the little sigh of pleasure that escaped your lips as you sank down into the tub. You couldn't quite bring yourself to pick up the soap yet: just another minute or two of savoring the heat, and then you could do it...

“Do you truly mean to bathe without me?” The voice from the doorway did not even make you flinch. You cracked one eye open to look at him. Loki stood stark naked in the doorway, leaning and leering at you with hunger in his eyes. You shivered.

“You are always welcome here, my Loki,” you said, and held your arms out in invitation. “I simply did not wish to disturb your peace there before the fire.” That was not entirely true. You smiled innocently at him anyway. Loki narrowed his eyes at you but did not say anything else, only climbed into the tub beside you. You could not miss the way his lips parted with pleasure.

He still didn't speak, only reached beyond you for the soap. But he did not wash himself: instead, he worked the soap into a lather in his hands and then ran them along the length of your arms. Being washed by him was bliss: he allowed you to close your eyes, let your body relax against his as he caressed you. You murmured his name appreciatively; he responded by pressing a kiss to your shoulder. When it was his turn, you took the soap from him wordlessly and worked it through his hair before anything else. The blood had dried, but the heat and the soap made quick work of it, and soon his hair was as clean and silky as it had ever been. You carefully dipped his head under the water to rinse it, and kissed his forehead.

The water had cooled considerably by the time you both were clean, so you had to hurry to dry and dress in the chill air of the room before you started to shiver. You had just finished drying your hair with one of the plush towels when someone knocked at the door. Loki stood up a little straighter and studied your face with a grin.

“That will be your gown for the ball tonight,” he said. Surely that wasn't...excitement in your angry, stoic prince's voice, was it? “You should go and have a look.”

You wrapped the towel tightly around your body, fixing him with a suspicious look even as you made your way toward the door. This did not feel like a trap, but it was...strange. Loki held his arms out, away from his body as though proclaiming his innocence.

The first thing you saw upon opening the door was Rowan's face, shining shyly. She had her head ducked down, but you could tell that she was practically vibrating with excitement. When she saw that it was you who had opened the door (instead of, say, a nude and glowering Loki), she curtsied quickly and held a large box out to you.

“I confess, my lady, I saw it as they were putting the finishing touches on it and packing it away. It's beautiful, truly beautiful. All eyes are going to be on you tonight.” She hesitated for a moment, her eyes flicking up to meet yours quickly. “May I help you dress?”

“Of course!” You really did need to work on controlling the volume of your voice lately. You spoke a little too loudly, but held the door open wider to allow her to step inside. “I have a...” Well, 'closet' was not quite the word. “Room? A dressing room? Is that what it's called?” After giving Loki a quick glance over your shoulder, you guided the girl through the door behind the tapestry.

Rowan placed the box on a low table and opened it carefully, with trembling fingers. She pulled the dress out and held it up high for you to see. You could see why she was so excited: your hand flew to your mouth as you took in the sight. The bodice of the dress was a rich emerald green, but in truth, the color barely peeked through the intricate swirling designs of beads and golden thread that had been painstakingly stitched into the fabric. The shining golden fabric of the skirt was tucked here, pinned there, which resulted in a flowing skirt that reminded you of waves lapping against the shore. As Rowan held it, as she breathed, the dress caught the lights of the room. But even more than that, it seemed to glow with a light all its own. 

Rowan lowered the dress a bit, to peek out over the top. The way that she held the dress before her gave the illusion that she was wearing it. She looked beautiful just holding the dress. It was almost dizzying to think about wearing it.

“It's...” What could you say? 

“I know. A lot of work went into this dress. We all watched as it took form... We can't wait to see it on you.” She smiled again: more excited this time, and less shy. 

“Ah...of course.” You clutched the towel a little more tightly for a moment, but ultimately relinquished it in favor of the dress. It fit perfectly, settling close against your skin like the touch of a lover. The neckline was quite a bit lower than you were truly comfortable with, and there were no straps to hold it up on your shoulders, but a few experimental wiggles showed you that you had nothing to fear. This dress was perfect. “Rowan...” You spun around to allow the skirts to flare out around you. “What do you think?”

“I think...it's perfect.” Her big dark eyes held no traces of jealousy or longing, but you couldn't help but feel those things for her. You were so close in age, and from villages so close to each other. You truly could have been sisters, and yet your lives were so utterly different. Why were you the one wearing this stunning gown, while she wore the simple cotton dress and apron of a servant? What gave you the right? She met your eyes and clasped her hands before her. “Your hair! My lady...may I held you with your hair for tonight as well?”

“P...please.” It was all you could manage, overcome as you were with emotions for this girl, but it was also, apparently, all that she needed. She hurried you over to the bench before the dressing-table and fell upon your hair with excited passion. She brushed it carefully and braided it quickly, and before much time at all had passed, she had fastened your hair into a delicate braided crown.

At last, she stood back a bit, admiring her work. “You look perfect,” she said in a hushed tone. “The only thing that's missing is...”

“A necklace.” The neckline of the dress practically required one. And you had one. You stretched out trembling fingers (this was ridiculous, why were your fingers trembling?) to the drawer that held the piece of jewelry. The necklace that Loki had given you the same day he'd shown you this room. The one that you'd feared would break you apart. The one that had led him to say 'I love you'. You busied yourself with untangling the delicate gold chain. It was every bit as beautiful as you remembered, but not quite as heavy. “This one. It has to be this one.” You held it up so the emerald teardrop caught the light and heard Rowan's quiet gasp.

“It's beautiful,” she said. She didn't take it from you to help you put it on; you wondered if it simply didn't occur to her, or if she didn't think she should touch it. You fastened it around your neck yourself. “My lady, if I owned something so fine, I would never take it off.” 

“I didn't think I'd ever put it on,” you said. Your reflection in the mirror seemed almost a complete stranger. Who was this girl wearing such beautiful things? The gem remained cool against your skin, but even that was comforting. It reminded you of your prince's touch. You covered it with your hand and allowed yourself a tiny smile.

When you returned to the sleeping quarters, it was empty already. You couldn't help but feel disappointed that Loki had gone on without you. You hadn't taken that long to dress, had you? Rowan did not seem particularly bothered, however: she just flashed you a smile and offered to escort you to the ballroom.

In response, you took her hand and offered her a wavery smile. “I'm ready.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I cannot thank you enough for coming back to this story again and again. 
> 
> I thought writing some nice cool wintry scenes in the middle of the summer would keep me cool! And make me appreciate the warmth! Turns out it's really hard to write about a Winter Ball when all you want to do is bask in the sun and go swimming. Oops. But now the weather's turned and I'm feeling cozier. So here's the next chapter! It's very long. I don't actually know what has been the longest chapter up until now, but the average word count per chapter works out to just over 5k. This one is a solid 13k. Oops again. I thought about splitting it up into two or maybe even three separate chapters, but then I decided against it. You've been waiting this long, so why shouldn't I give you all that I can? :)
> 
> But seriously, thank you to all of you who are reading this right now. And the commenters! Oh my word. Sometimes all it takes to lift me out of the darkest and most broken of spirits is one unexpected but beautifully kind comment. You don't know how much you all help me. Thank you.
> 
> There's some coarse language and violence towards the middle of this chapter, but I really don't think it's much worse than a movie that's rated R, so if you've made it through the earlier chapters I really think you'll be okay. Let me know if you think I should put a stronger warning here or something.

You heard the festivities even before you got within sight of the doorway. There was music--cheerful, but quiet--playing, and you could hear the dull buzzing sound of a great many voices. You looked over at Rowan. If anything, she looked excited. 

"I'd imagine you've been a part of a lot of these," you said. She nodded.

"Quite a few." She seemed to realize something, and quickly looked at you. "You've never been to one." It was not even a question. She pulled you off to the side of the doorway and spoke in a hushed tone. "Don't worry, my lady, you'll be fine. First the queen will speak, to welcome the guests and announce the nobility. But then it's almost like any other night here, just with more people. And a lot more food. You should go inside!" She grinned at you, nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her enthusiasm was catching. You nodded, more to yourself than to her. You could do this. 

"I shall see you inside, then," you said. Rowan and the other servants likely wouldn't be dancing or celebrating, you knew, but you would see them nonetheless. "Oh! If you see Sindri before I do, would you please let her know that I've not forgotten my promise to her?" Truth be told, you were almost even more nervous about meeting the girl's mother than you were about joining the crowd in the ballroom, but you had promised. Rowan just nodded and gestured for you to step through the doorway. It was time.

As you'd expected, the crowd was large, and already rather loud. There seemed to be a wide range of social statuses: there were guests dressed in gowns even lovelier than your own, and there were guests in beautiful, but comparatively plain, cotton dresses. Just inside the door, you caught sight of a small child. She was staring at you with wide and disbelieving eyes. You smiled and waved, which made her gasp and hide behind the skirts of an older woman. 

Just as they had been on the night of your arrival in the palace, the royal family was elevated, standing on a platform at one end of the room. Loki was there already. He looked nearly as bored as he'd been at the first ball. It wouldn't make sense for you to join the family there on the platform, but surely it would not be improper for you to stand nearby. Perhaps you could find a way to brighten the expression on your prince's face.

As you approached, a curious thing happened. You did not have to push your way through the crowd. You found yourself murmuring the customary "Excuse me"s and "Thank you"s, but people...people were parting for you. Rather than puzzle over this strange development, you kept your eyes trained on your prince. He wore what appeared to be armor, but made of leather. For improved mobility? Was this simply formal armor? It was a glossy black, with accents of gold much the same color as your dress, and a cloak of his signature green. There were intricate designs in the gold that you could not wait to touch. A daft thrill ran through you. He was yours to touch. He was standing there with the rest of the royal family, looking as perfect and regal as he ever had, and yet he remained yours to touch. You clasped your fingers together tightly in front of you, anxious for the queen's speech to begin--and then end.

The first time he met your gaze, he looked away again almost immediately, scanning the room and the other guests. That struck you as a little strange, but even before you could come up with an explanation, he looked at you again. His eyes widened a bit, and his mouth even dropped open before he could stop it. He stepped off of the platform and, in just a few long strides, he stood before you and took your hands in his. His mouth opened, but he closed it again without speaking. You could feel your cheeks warming.

"What has befallen my prince's elegant tongue?" You asked innocently. You were fairly certain that his state was the result of the perfection of the gown, but his reaction made your stomach tighten anyway.

"My lady has stolen it away," he answered simply. He lifted your hand into the air, clearly meaning for you to twirl for him. You were more than happy to comply. The golden skirt flared out around you just as it had when you'd first put it on. He pulled you in close. "Truly I have never seen such beauty before this night." His voice was low, and there was a rasp in his throat that made you burn and shiver all at the same time.

"It--It's perfect," you agreed. "Whoever was tasked with the creation of this dress, I hope they will be well-compensated for the rest of their life." Once again you wondered how long it had taken to make, and whether the creator would be given proper credit.

"I shall personally build them their very own palace and provide them with hundreds of servants," Loki agreed. He sounded more like himself now, with mischief coloring the edges of his words. “But I am not speaking of the dress.” His eyes roamed your body once more--what little he could actually see, with how close he was holding you--and alighted upon the necklace you wore. He searched your face; you looked back at him, suddenly feeling shy. 

He said nothing. He said nothing as he raised one hand to touch the emerald pendant with one gentle finger. He said nothing as he cupped your face in his hands and brushed his thumbs against your cheeks. He said nothing as he lowered his lips to yours and kissed you fiercely. You slid your arms up around his neck and kissed him back with equal intensity. You could not have asked for a better reaction. He pressed his body close to yours. You spared not even a single thought for the people that surrounded you: your entire world shrank down until it was small enough to fit within your prince's arms. 

You pulled back just enough to draw a much-needed breath and your lips curled against his. But before you could think of anything to fill the silence between you, you heard the queen delicately clearing her throat. Though you started to release Loki so that he might re-join his family, he held on to your hand and pulled gently. When he turned back to look at you, he looked nearly as confused as you felt.

“Come with me,” he said. When he said it, it sounded so simple. You could not remember exactly why you felt you should not join him. You opened your mouth to explain why it was best that you remain where you were, but no words came out. He was so beautiful. He smiled a little and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Please. A lady as beautiful as you should be gazed upon by entire kingdoms. But...” A tiny crease appeared between his eyebrows. “If you would truly prefer to stay here...”

You shook your head. You were turning this into something larger than it truly was. With a shaky breath and a sheepish smile directed towards your prince, you stepped closer to him. “It would be an honor, my prince. Lead on, sire.”

In reality, the platform was not terribly high. There were only a few steps before you were standing with the royal family. But it was still somewhat...dizzying. From this height, you were able to look out among the entire crowd. Realistically you knew that not everyone was looking at you (there was a king and two princes to look at, not to mention the queen as she moved gracefully to the center of the platform to begin speaking), but it felt like they were.

Just as Frigga began to welcome all of her honored guests, you felt Loki step closer and press a steadying arm against your lower back. You leaned into him gratefully. He pressed his lips to your temple, and you could feel him smile. “All of the color has drained from your cheeks. Are you well?”

You nodded. Everyone's eyes had been drawn to the queen the moment she began speaking, but yours were still locked on the crowd. “There are so many people. And I am...here.” It was hard to put into words what you were actually thinking and feeling. Every inch of your body was simply filled with awe.

“Right where you belong.” He spoke with such ease and sincerity that it was easy to believe him.

The queen must have spoken for a long time: after she welcomed everyone, she announced each noble guest one by one. But you lost track of the time. Once again, your world became nothing more than the prince's hand on the small of your back and his lips as they continued to graze against your temple. When the last noble had been announced and the ball had been declared open, to thunderous applause, Loki led you back down the few steps to the dance floor. As before, the crowd cleared around you. 

The band began playing a merry tune that lent itself well to dancing. Loki bowed to you; you curtsied deeply. Then he took you into his arms, pulling you tight against his body, and began to dance. The king and queen were dancing as well, and Thor and Eir, but no one else had joined you. You wanted to ask Loki why the others were not dancing, but you could not find the words. There was something magic in the music that filled the room, in the way your dress flared out around your legs and the way Loki's hands rested on your hips. You felt enchanted. Your feet moved just as fluidly as your prince's did. The music became a part of you. You could feel the grin breaking out across your face, but even the strain of your cheek muscles was not enough to distract you from the joy you found here. His eyes remained locked on yours even as you lost yourself in the music.

“A thousand pardons, but would you mind terribly if I cut in?” The voice, though unexpected, was not entirely unfamiliar. The two of you stopped dancing, and when you looked over at the source of the interruption, you smiled to see Baldur. He seemed uncomfortable, as though he wasn't quite sure why he'd just spoken, but he did not waver.

“Well, that depends on whom you wish to whisk away,” Loki said. “I really must insist that you dance with the lady. It would be a crime for anyone as beautiful as she to stand unaccompanied against a wall tonight.” He flashed you a smile and kissed your hand.

“Oh, but my lord is such a graceful dancer. Surely it is also a crime for his feet to remain still while music plays on.” But you beamed at Baldur, just in case he thought you were protesting his request.

“If I had two sets of feet, I would gladly dance with both of you.” A tiny smile curved his lips. “But as I only have the one...”

“Take her,” Loki said. “But do not take her far or keep her long. You'll be hard-pressed to find another as lovely as my lady, but there is no other I'd rather have.” He bowed to you, looking perfectly innocent, as though he had no idea how fiercely his words had burned your cheeks.

Baldur offered you his hand. Because you knew accepting it would be easier than trying to analyze your prince's words, you accepted it. He was every bit as graceful a leader as he'd been the last time you'd danced together. His hands rested gently against you, neither exploring nor possessing. He did not say much, but when he caught you looking at him, he smiled mildly.

“This is your first time celebrating the winter season at the palace, is it not?” You lowered your eyes. Was it so obvious? Before you could make yourself answer, he pushed on. “I meant no offense, my lady. I was only asking, in a rather oafish way, if you have ever been among the villagers invited in previous years.”

“No, my lord. My father never paid much attention to royal invitations.” You knew of several families which had been to the palace. They'd come back with countless stories, but also a new air of...insufferableness. As though spending part of an evening dancing among royals and the nobility had somehow made them superior to everyone else in the village.

“He allowed you to attend the prince's ball.” He kept his voice low. Perhaps he understood how confusing the memory and its associated emotions would be for you. You smiled gratefully—and a little sheepishly—at him.

“The prince's ball held the possibility of compensation for him. He stood to rid himself of a burdensome mouth to feed and receive payment for her at that.” It had not occurred to you—until this very moment—that perhaps you were as wrong in believing that there was a payment as you'd been in believing that there was a harem. But Baldur nodded. He even seemed a bit...embarrassed?

“The payment is not grand,” he said. “And who could even put a price on a beloved daughter? It is intended only as a show of gratitude to the family for caring for the prince's future companion. At times, it has been used to ease her uncertainties about leaving her family behind. She knows that they will be provided for, that they do not need her to remain in her home, and so it becomes easier for her to leave.”

It had not seemed to you, that terrifying night, that you'd had much of a choice but to never return home. You chewed thoughtfully on your lower lip. But perhaps that had been because of the prince himself. Perhaps a kinder prince would have been more gentle. You wondered: if Loki were to re-live the events of that night today, as the man he had now become, how different would things have been? He might have chosen someone else entirely.

“Do you miss your family very much?” Baldur's voice interrupted your musings.

You shook your head a bit more forcefully than perhaps was necessary. “The village was my home, but it was coarse and at times cruel. There are strangers here who treat me with more kindness than my father ever showed me.” You were sharing too much, but this conversation was making you angry. “The kindest thing he ever did for me was selling me into what he believed was the prince's harem.” Hot tears pricked at your eyes. You were not sad, only angry. And now mortified. You swiped harshly at your eyes and ducked your head. “Forgive me, my lord.”

Baldur tightened his hold on you and pulled you closer to him. “There is nothing to forgive.” His voice was low and soothing. “I have been in numerous estates and palaces, and I have never seen someone as beloved in their home as you, here. Except perhaps Queen Frigga. Know that. Remember that. Everything else is in the past now.”

His words nearly made you stumble. You were certain they were an exaggeration at best, but they had had their intended effect. Again you ducked your head, but this time it was to hide your burning cheeks.

“If you had been my brother, it would have been immeasurably more difficult to leave home.”

He stiffened a bit, but before you could feel even the slightest hint of horror at what you'd said, he spoke: “If I had been your brother, I would have fought tooth and nail to keep you from disappearing into the palace.”

You studied his face. His dark eyes sparkled, but the rest of his face was as serious as ever. He was a very kind man, you knew that already, but also a man unaccustomed to smiling. Idly, you wondered if he had anyone who could make him smile as frequently or as brightly as you could make Loki smile.

“Have you any actual brothers or sisters?” You were surprised by your own question; Baldur was less so.

“None.” But there was something in his voice, or perhaps his face, that told you that this was not the complete truth. Before you could get a better look at him, or ask another questions, the song ended with a flourish. He released you and bowed. “Thank you for the dance,” he said, and his voice was back to normal. “I will keep you from your prince no longer. I hope you enjoy the rest of the night.”

And then he faded away into the crowd. Your mind rattled with all the questions you hadn't been able to ask him. As you scanned the sea of faces looking for Loki, your eyes alighted on Sindri. She was peering out from around a doorway. You could not quite read her face from this distance, but as you approached her, you watched her eyes widen. At first she straightened, holding herself stiffly and twisting her hands in her apron, but when you came still closer and she realized it was you, she relaxed once more.

“You look so beautiful,” she whispered reverently. “I thought you were a queen come to visit.”

“No, I'm only me,” you laughed. You couldn't help the little rush of pleasure at her words, though. “Where is your mother? I would love to meet her.”

She lifted one shoulder and smiled a smile that lifted only one corner of her mouth.

“My aunt has taken sick. Mum is helping to care for her. She might still be able to come, but it won't be until late, after her sister has fallen asleep.” She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders. You recognized the signs of a child trying to convince someone—or herself—that nothing is wrong.

“Well...when she gets here, please don't forget to come find me.” You reached out to caress her cheek. You would have liked to gather her into your arms, but you knew how fragile false courage could be. To acknowledge too fiercely her sadness would be to free it from whatever hiding space she had crammed it into. “She must be a remarkable woman, to have a daughter as remarkable as you.”

A lovely pink suffused her cheeks and she lowered her eyes. “You are much too kind, my lady. But I thank you for it.”

Someone in the corridor beyond the doorway barked her name. The voice was far too harsh to be a mother's. She startled and took a few steps backward. “They'll be needing me in the kitchens now. I'll find you! I promise!” 

You watched her go, practically running down the empty hallway.

You didn't quite feel like dancing alone, or like finding Loki, so instead you made your way towards the tables of food. They stretched on for what seemed like forever, countless tables heavily-laden with just about every dish you could imagine. At first you merely wandered among the offerings. Even just a mouthful of everything there would fill you beyond comfort. As you walked, you became uncomfortably aware of the eyes, wide and hungry, that studied you. Young girls and women alike, nearly always clad in gowns similar to the one you'd worn to the first ball—the finest ones that the village tailors had to offer but still not nearly as fine as those that the noblewomen in attendance were wearing—gasped and nudged each other, jostling in attempt to get out of your way. It was your gown, and the beautiful hairstyle Rowan had created for you. They made these women think that you were something you were not. You wanted to scream out to them, tell them that it was a mask, a disguise, that you were just like them, but they wouldn't even meet your eyes so you could smile at them.

One woman, in her haste to clear the way for you, knocked against a small girl, no older than six or seven. The girl pitched forward and dropped her glass of cider. The glass shattered and splashed the liquid onto the bottom of your gown. The girl stood frozen, horrified, even as the woman (her mother?) gasped and tried to pull her away from you.

“I'm sorry,” the girl whispered. Her eyes were fixed in horror at the wet stain. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry!” Her eyes filled with tears.

“It was my fault, Your Highness,” the woman said. She was still trying to pull the girl closer to her. You dropped into a crouch, disregarding the fact that the position placed your skirts more firmly in the puddle, and reached to take the girl's hands in yours. She flinched. Her mother gasped, but made no attempt to stop you. Silent tears dropped down the girl's cheeks, and her lips moved but no sound came out.

“Don't be so frightened, darling, it was an accident. Were you hurt?”

In her shock, she forgot her meekness. She nodded at you, jaw dropping open and eyes wide and disbelieving. You brushed her tears away as gently as you could.

“That's a very pretty dress you're wearing. The color makes your eyes sparkle. Are you by chance part fairy?”

“Thank you, Miss,” she said automatically. “But I'm not part fairy. My dress was my big sister's when she was little. Mummy made it even smaller so it'd fit me.”

“She did a beautiful job,” you said, glancing up at the older woman. Her tight face relaxed a bit into a wary smile. “Are you very nice to your mummy? You take very good care of her?”

The little girl nodded. “Yes, Miss. I love her very much.” You couldn't help but smile to yourself. But her eyes soon filled with woe again. “Please, Miss, I'm sorry I ruined your dress.” She gazed longingly at what you were wearing. 

“It's not ruined, my friend. Look, it's still perfectly fine. I bet that, once it dries, no one but the three of us will even know a thing. It can be our secret.” That brought a genuine smile to her face. “And this way I'll have something to remind me of the night when I got to meet a secret fairy princess.”

“You aren't angry with me?” Her small eyebrows furrowed as she studied your face.

“Not in the slightest.” Over her shoulder, you could see that a servant—the sharp-faced blonde girl, of all people—had arrived with a rag and a mop, and was waiting for you to get out of the mess. You took the girl's small hand in yours. “Why don't we go get you and your mummy something else to drink, now that I've made you spill yours all over the floor?” 

The girl relaxed quickly, as enchanted as she was by the endless tables of food and drink, but her mother remained wary. Perhaps she was waiting for you, like Loki, to lose your temper? But after a while, she seemed to accept that you were not going to suddenly morph into a violent, snarling monster, and you began to chat. 

She was older than you were, but not quite as old as your own mother would have been. The girl—Dagny—was her only child, and the light of her life. Her husband was, from what you could surmise, a gentle man utterly too in love with their daughter. This was the girl's first celebration in the palace, but the woman and her husband (then suitor) had attended once before, many years ago. While you spoke, the girl hovered nearby, hopping from foot to foot like a small bird or eyeing beautiful ladies as they walked by in their gowns, or skipping and twirling along with the music. It was lovely to watch her dance and listen to her mother's stories.

But then you caught sight of a familiar face near the table of desserts. Your heart stopped for a moment when his eyes met yours. “I am so sorry, but I must go now,” you said to the woman. You couldn't take your eyes off of the man for any longer than a few seconds at a time. It felt as though you had no time for pleasantries, but thankfully the woman understood.

“Yes, of course. Of course! I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time tonight!”

You took your eyes away from the man to look into the woman's eyes. You needed her to accept your sincerity. “You haven't, not at all. There's just... Someone I need to speak with.”

She nodded gracefully. Dagny threw her arms around your legs. “Thank you, Princess!”

You smiled, a bit uncomfortably, but did not correct her. Instead you rubbed her back, and she released you.

He was still standing at the desserts. The plate he was holding was half-full, and he was studying the selection of fruit pies.

“What are you doing here?” It was practically a growl. Exceedingly impolite, but the shock of seeing him had all but done away with your manners. Your brother turned and looked at you with a wide smile. Something—a piece of the skin of a fruit?--was stuck in his teeth.

“Right now I am trying to decide whether I could stuff any of this down the front of my trousers to take it home, or if I just have to stuff it all in my belly. How are you, little sister?”

“I'm well. What I meant was, what are you doing in the palace?”

“We are your guests of honor,” he answered. 

“We...?” Your blood ran cold. Having your brother here was one thing, but your father? Perhaps he was not here. Perhaps Keld had brought a girl, some lovely girl who was soft and kind and loved your large, stupid brother.

“Received a special invitation hand-delivered to the doorstep.” The voice came from behind you and laid waste to your lovely dreams of a possible sister-in-law. You turned around to greet your father. 

He was clean, you'd grant him that. His skin was shiny and still faintly pink from the scrubbing that he'd have to have done. The formal suit he was wearing was unfamiliar to you, and bulged a bit at the seams. Perhaps he'd borrowed it from a neighbor who was just slightly smaller than he? He was holding a half-drunk pint of ale, but his eyes had yet to take on that hard, beady look he got when he'd drunk too much.

Some long-buried affection for the man swelled within you. You did not long to return to his home, and you wouldn't not soon forget the pain you had suffered at his hands, but he was, after all, your father. You smiled faintly.

“Then I am pleased you could attend tonight.”

“We wouldn't have missed it for the world.” Between his tone and the grand gesture he made with his arms, you got the uncomfortable feeling that he was mocking you, but you let it go. He was harmless here. “Looks like you've done pretty well for yourself.” He gestured towards your dress. “And maybe like I should have asked for more money. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes.” Remain calm, you told yourself. The worst thing you could possibly have to face tonight would be his words. You could deal with his words any time. You nodded. “Absolutely, Father. The people here are kind.” In the past, you might have dropped your gaze, but tonight you kept your chin high. The briefest flicker of annoyance flashed across his features, but he covered it with a smile.

“They must be very kind, to give a whore such a gown and allow her to attend a ball.” Your brother spoke from around a mouthful of food. He didn't know any better. Hell, before you'd settled in here, you'd held the same belief. But you held your back ramrod straight and froze a humorless smile onto your face.

“I'm not a whore. I am...” Well, what were you, exactly? “I'm... a companion. Of Prince Loki. We are...” What? Equals? Not quite. 'Together' sounded too weak. “In love.” It was a ridiculous thing to say to these hard men, but true enough. Over your father's short shoulder, you saw the prince himself. He was looking for someone, craning his neck so he could see above the crowd.

You had never in your life been as certain of anything as you were of the fact that Loki must not meet your family. Trying your best to appear unruffled, you excused yourself from the men and melted into the crowd. You had to meet Loki halfway, far away from your family.

He saw you not long after you spotted him again. This time his eyes did not skitter past you, but locked on to you. Even from a distance, the combined desire band reverence in his gaze warmed you deep inside. He held his arms out as he approached and you took your place within them.

“I was starting to believe someone had come and stolen you away. You are too good at hiding from me in crowds.” But his voice held no trace of admonition.

“I was not hiding on purpose this time, my lord. I merely found myself among the guests and subjects enjoying this celebration.”

Loki began moving in time to the music, and you followed suit. To be honest, you'd expected something more—that perhaps he'd tease you about flirting with other men, or even ask if you'd seen anyone you knew, but he remained quiet. Moody. You reached up to twist a lock of his hair around your finger. Much of his hair had been pulled away from his face and was secured by braids, but the back hung freely at his shoulders. You tugged lightly, and his eyes slanted closed.

“Are you uncomfortable in such formal clothes?” You asked.

“I have spent most of my life submitting to such things. The discomfort is nothing. Especially compared to my mother's happiness when I arrive at an occasion such as this properly clothed.” He spun you out away from him. Your skirts flared out around you and you watched, hypnotized. When he pulled you back again, his voice was a growl. “And yet I am counting down the hours until I am once again in the privacy of my own quarters so that my lady may finally undress me.”

“My lord!” A laugh bubbled up past your lips, but you were not as scandalized as you pretended. “We are surrounded by people and still you speak to me in such a way!”

He grinned wolfishly and held you tightly as the music ended. You slipped your arms up around his neck and pressed yourself still closer to him. His armored robes felt strange and unfamiliar against your body, but he was still your prince. You stretched a bit so you could press your nose against the small patch of exposed skin at the base of his throat. You inhaled. He still smelled like your prince. You felt, more than heard, his laugh. He pressed a hand to the back of your head.

“Do I smell of sweat and leather?” The music began again, more slowly this time. He swept you into a waltz. “It grows ever more stifling in this room.”

You thought for a moment. He did smell of leather, and perhaps even sweat, but clean sweat. The way he sometimes smelled when you put your head on his chest after the two of you had...exerted yourself together. But beneath all of that, he still smelled like himself. His skin was faintly perfumed, something unnameable and indescribable. You made a soft noise of affirmation. “You smell like my Loki. It is—” You ducked your head, embarrassed. “It is comforting.”

“Who would have thought that someone as monstrous as I have been toward you could ever offer comfort.” His words were light, deceptively so, but when you cast a worried look at his face, his expression was stormy. These moods seemed to come more quickly and more easily each day, and it worried you.

“Have I...upset you?” You did not truly expect an answer—and certainly not a truthful one, at that—but you were tired of worrying silently.

He softened his face immediately. “Of course not. If anything, you are the only one with the ability to soothe me.”

“I see.” You danced for a while without speaking. It would do no good to press him, you knew, but you were still unconvinced. “It just seems that often, I say the wrong thing and you...become angry.”

A fire blazed behind his eyes, not anger, just...intensity. His grip on your tightened nearly to the point of discomfort but you did not protest. “It is not because of you. Never because of you. You must not think that. You—” He looked wildly around the room. “I mean this, you are perfect.” His fingers tightened even further around your shoulders. “The problem is that I do not—” He choked off, snapping his mouth shut. He did not what? Why was he so pale? Could it be something bad? Could he not want to see you any more? By now the thought seemed impossible. Even now, in the middle of everything, there was a soft affection in his eyes as he looked at you. It was just mostly hidden by the way his eyes had gone wide and desperate. He almost looked frightened.

As quickly as his face had changed the first time, it changed again. Now he was looking at you with nothing but open adoration. There was not a trace of fear or uncertainty in his eyes any longer. You knew that this was, of course, carefully crafted but allowed it to reassure you nonetheless. He kissed your nose, your cheek, your lips, your throat. “I think it would be wise for me to get some fresh air. Stay here. Enjoy the music. I shall find you again soon.”

“So long as you don't find some lovelier lady hiding on the balcony.” The words did not sound nearly as carefree or teasing as you had intended. He stopped in his tracks and came close once again to take your hand and raise your knuckles to his lips.

“Such a thing would be impossible, in this realm and every other. And even if it were not, you are my only.” With that, he stepped away again, leaving you alone to deal with the buzzing in your ears. Whatever it was that he was struggling with of late, it truly seemed to have nothing to do with you. You felt guilty for feeling so relieved when he was clearly still troubled. Perhaps he would tell you before long. You didn't know enough about the life of a royal to be able to offer much advice, but sometimes talking could be enough.

You hadn't seen Sindri in a while, you realized. Perhaps her mother had arrived after all and they were visiting together. It was better than the alternative—that her mother would not be coming and the poor girl had hidden herself away somewhere to cry alone. As you scanned the room, instead of finding Sindri, your eyes landed on another familiar—but mortifying—sight. Your father was shouting at someone, his face bright red and splotchy. Though you could not quite make out his words, you recognized the swaying stance, the unsteadiness in his arm as he jabbed his finger into the other man's face. Your brother was nowhere to be found. The men had not yet attracted the attention of a guard, but surely that was not far off.

You made your way over to them before a guard could and placed a steadying, if not calming, hand on your father's back. He looked at you strangely at first, unseeing or simply not recognizing you but then his eyes narrowed. You had successfully transferred his anger onto yourself. Fine. You could at least lead him away from everybody else.

“The bastard thinks he's better'n me 'cause he's got a sheep!” He blustered. He'd definitely been imbibing something stronger than the ale. The king's wine, perhaps? “A sheep! One bloody sheep! Well you know what I've got, ye filthy bootlicker? I've got a fucking whore. A palace whore. Got the bloody nobility taking my own flesh-n-blood to bed every night. 'N that pays way better'n a sheep. You can't fuck a sheep.” His eyes widened. “Well I bet you do, ye disgusting bugger. Hey! Everyone! There's a sheep-fucker right over here!” He was shouting now, and waving his arms wildly to attract attention. 

You wanted nothing more than the ability to sink straight through the floor and take up residence beneath the floor of the dungeon. What you did, however, was take your father firmly by the elbow and lead him out into the corridor. He was still muttering about whores and sheep and something you couldn't quite make out when your brother sidled up to you.

“Where have you been?” You demanded. “Weren't you paying attention to how much he had to drink? Here? Of all places?!”

Keld had that glazed look in his eyes that told you he'd probably had too much as well. You wanted to scream, or perhaps cry with frustration. “So what? That's the whole point of a party. Where are you taking him?” He tried to put his arm around your shoulder but you sidestepped him easily.

“Wait, yer not a whore,” your father said in one brief moment of clarity. You watched as he tried to make his eyes focus. When he couldn't, he squinted angrily at you and struck out at you with a clumsy fist. “You said so yerself. Yer a...fancy thing. A wife or...summat.” He struck again, this time lucking into a solid connection with your belly. You grunted, and might have doubled over with pain if you weren't supporting his weight. “Yeah, yer fancy like a wife, but no one paid me for no wife. They bought a whore off me. That ain't right. They're a bunch of cheats. Cheats 'n liars. Got half a mind to take you back home 'til they agree to pay me what they owe me.”

“They won't do that,” Keld laughed. “Be easier to just find some new girl to marry. Might could even get her for free.”

“True enough.” Your father's hand came towards you again, but this time he patted your cheek just a little harder than necessary. Not quite a slap, but certainly no loving caress. “Means I'll have to get myself what I deserve.”

His bleary, unfocused eyes roved around the corridor around the three of you as though looking for hidden riches. “Paid me for a whore and took her as a wife. Don't know nothin'. Cheats 'n' liars.” He was muttering again. He pulled his arm away from you and landed another heavy blow on your shoulder. The force made you stumble sideways and your eyes watered, but you did not break. Your father dragged his eyes up the length of your body, but didn't quite meet your eyes.

“Looks 'xpensive,” he slurred, poking at your necklace with a clammy finger.

“Expensive like a wife, maybe,” your brother chimed in. They both stared.

You took another step backwards and closed your fingers around the dangling emerald pendant and its delicate chain. Any other necklace you would have given them without hesitation, but this one? You thought back to the bitter argument it had inspired the first time you had seen it, but also the tender words that had come not long after. And the way Loki had looked at you tonight when he'd seen you finally wearing it. “No.” Your voice wavered, but you tried again. “No. Not this one. I would happily give you any of the other things I've been given here, but not this.”

“What makes this more valuable than your own family, huh?” They both closed the distance between you. Your brother, who hadn't even noticed the accursed necklace before your father brought it up, was now leering at it. His breath was a particularly unpleasant mixture of onions, sweets, and alcohol. “Everyone's starving back home, and you're sitting pretty in your fancy gowns and expensive jewelry like we ain't nothing to you. I bet you've got a whole box of these in your fancy bedroom, ain't you?”

“Not like this,” you repeated. Your back was against a wall. There was no more space for you to back up into. You clutched at the necklace, but Keld had closed his fingers around your wrist. “You can't take this. I'll take you to my room. You can have anything you want, but you can't have this. It's too important.” 

“This is what we're takin'.” Your father's breath, if it was at all possible, was even fouler than Keld's. He jerked his chin toward your brother, who yanked your hand away. Your father weighed the heavy gemstone in his hand and sneered at you, taunting. As drunk as he was, you could see that he took some kind of pleasure in this. As far as he was concerned, he was putting you back into your place. It made sense. Who were you to think you could ever be rid of your past? These people were your roots, gnarled and twisted and corrupt. How could anything worthy ever come from such filth? 

Halfheartedly, you tried to pull your hand free, but it was in vain. Your father tugged brutally on the chain. As delicate as it looked, it did not immediately snap. He swore under his breath and tugged again. The metal bit into the back of your neck, but still it held fast. In his frustration, he tried to bash you across your cheek, but he was drunk and distracted, and so he barely even brushed you. 

“Sister!” A joyful, booming voice bounced along the walls of the corridor, making all of you jump. You couldn't decide, upon seeing Thor and Baldur approaching you, whether to laugh or cry. Had you ever been this relieved to see Thor? This onslaught could not continue in the presence of a prince, regardless of the hatred the men held for you. Or...even if it did, Baldur would most certainly prevent it, right? “I have not seen you since we stood together on the platform with my parents earlier this evening. Are you well?” He was too loud, too cheerful, though his eyes narrowed when he looked at your family.

“All is well, br—... my lord prince.” You voice had begun to waver again. Your whole body felt limp and shaky. This was too much. All you had wanted from the time you discovered your family was here was to keep them far, far away from the royals. And here you were all but forced to introduce them. Thor was all but certain to use this at some later date, either to support his belief that you had no place here or else simply to torment you. You could not look at him, and mumbled: “These are...this is my family. My father and my brother. They were just...admiring the beautiful necklace that Prince Loki gave to me.”

There was a long silence and Keld finally released your wrist. Your father, however, did not let go of the pendant. From the corner of your eye, you saw Thor shift his weight and cross his arms.

“She knows times is hard back home 'n' she's givin' us a little thing to take home, to get us through these thin times.” Your father's drunkenness must have emboldened him, to speak so freely. But something inside you burned. If you disagreed with him, you risked making a scene in front of Thor and sending yourself even deeper into disgrace. But you could not agree with him. You told yourself that you were being ridiculous, that, necklace or not, Loki had still told you that he loved you that night, and many many times over since then. Giving up the necklace would not erase that memory. And yet...

Thankfully, your father gave himself away with still another sharp tug. You winced at the sensation of the metal scraping against the already-irritated skin of the back of your neck. Thor cleared his throat. When that did nothing to stop the impetuous drunk, he stepped forward. “Unhand her, you brute.” All of the brightness and cheer had drained from his voice, and he now sounded threatening. “She may have been yours to abuse not long ago, but she is of the royal palace now, and my mother does not look kindly upon men who mistreat her ladies.” He cast you a look—was that guilt?— but quickly returned his attention back to your father, who had turned to squint at the oversized prince.

“Liars 'n' cheats,” he spat once more. “The whole lot of ye. I spent my time and money raising this wench from a drooling babe into a brainless cunt.” He pointed at you, not quite jabbing you again, but close. “Then ye bloody royals come along and pay me for a whore and make her a wife? It ain't right. I know ye can spare more than what ye gave. I know what I'm due!” He whirled around unsteadily and struck you, repeatedly, and with more speed than he should have had. You didn't make a sound, but raised your arms to protect yourself as best as you could. His fists were everywhere, knocking the wind out of you and making your ears ring and numbing your arms and pulling your hair all at once.

You couldn't be sure how long the assault lasted, except that surely it hadn't been nearly as long as it felt, given Thor's proximity and even Keld's exclamations of surprise. When the blows finally stopped raining down on you, and your father's hurled insults seemed to come from farther away, you opened your eyes again. Thor had pulled him away and subdued him by twisting one arm up high behind his back. Keld did nothing, his wide eyes bouncing back and forth between you and Thor. Baldur was close to you, but not too close. He held his hands up and out, as though he wanted to reach for you but wasn't sure it would be welcome. They had witnessed everything. You wanted to hide your face with shame, but even that would be humiliating.

“What will you have me do?” Thor asked. He jerked on your father's arm, nearly sending him to his knees with pain. “Guards? The dungeons? I think we both know what my brother will do when he sees him.”

“Send him home.” Your voice was a hoarse whisper. “I cannot look at him any longer. Just...send them home.”

“Selfish cunt! Ye've got yers, is that it? Yer sittin' pretty in the lap-a-luxury so fuck all the rest of us!” Thor jerked your father's arm up even higher (did you merely imagine the sickening crack?) but it didn't stop his tirade. “Well I don't want to see you again either, how's that? Suck all the royal cocks you want or be a brainless whore wife, I don't care! I'll be cursing yer bloody name until the day I die!”

Finally, a group of guards made their way over to your small group. Thor handed his prisoner over and said a few words. They nodded, barely even glancing at you, and took him away down the corridor. Keld followed, lost, helpless. He was only stupid, rarely violent. You might have liked to have said goodbye to him, but you couldn't move. You could barely breathe. Your chest was tight. You wanted to sob, but not in front of these men. Not in front of Thor.

“You're trembling,” said Baldur in that same soothing voice from before. You looked down at your arms, which you'd crossed protectively in front of your stomach after you had lowered them. He was right. Not even tightening your grip on yourself could stop the tremors. The beautiful flowing skirts of your gown (it now seemed so long since you'd first put it on) fluttered slightly with the shaking of your legs. If you didn't have the wall the wall behind you, solid and unmoving, you might not have been able to support your own weight. “How badly are you hurt?”

Not trusting your voice, you could only shake your head. It wasn't bad. After such a peaceful existence for so long in the palace, it was jarring and utterly humiliating that it happened in front of the one person in the palace who could be trusted to use it against you, but there was no lasting damage.

“There's a bench there,” you heard Thor murmur, and then Baldur was slipping an arm around your waist to guide you. It wasn't far. He lowered you to the seat and stood beside you like a sentry while you tried to regain control of your breathing. Thor knelt before you. At first, he moved his hands as though to rest them on your knees, but clearly thought better of it and placed them on the bench on either side of your legs. “Were those men truly your family?” He asked. “Did you know them?”

There was no right answer. To say yes would be to reveal to him the rotten foundations of your very being. It would be accepting them. To say no would be a downright lie, and could possibly get them into deeper trouble: if they were not relations but strangers trying to steal from the palace, what might happen to them? But to remain silent was just as bad. You drew in, and then released, a long, shaky breath. 

“Yes.” How could you still sound so hoarse? You'd hardly said anything. You swallowed hard. “My father and brother received invitations to attend as my guests of honor.” A quick, wide-eyed glance at Thor was all you could muster before you dropped your gaze back to the tile floor. “I don't know who specifically invited them, but it wasn't me. I would never have dreamed of it. I'm sorry to bring this trouble here.” Next to you, Baldur shifted, and you heard him draw in a breath as though to speak, but he said nothing. “I'm sorry you...saw that.”

Now it was Thor's turn to begin to speak, but before he could, a quick, light set of footsteps made their way towards the three of you. You looked up in time to watch Rowan stumble to a stop when she saw you. With Thor so near and you looking so frightful, it was easy to imagine that she would get the wrong idea. You fixed a smile on your face so she wouldn't worry. It didn't work.

“Begging your pardon, sire,” she said, addressing Thor with a deep curtsy. “But the lady Queen sent me to find you. She wishes to speak with you.” Another curtsy. Her eyes slid back to you, a question and dread both resting there. You shook your head quickly.

Thor did not seem as eager to leave as he should have. He'd done his job. He'd removed the ruffians from his home and set things straight again. Why was he still kneeling before you like that? And why hadn't you stopped trembling yet? But he rose, hesitating in front of you for a moment before ultimately turning and striding away. Baldur waited a little while longer. Finally he looked at Rowan, gave her a quick nod and a tight smile, and left the two of you as well.

Only when he had finally disappeared around a corner did Rowan speak. “Miss?” Her voice trembled. She took a step closer to you but stopped in her tracks, lifting her hands towards you just as Baldur had. “Miss, what's happened?”You allowed yourself one ragged sob, but then pressed the heel of your hand against your mouth to stop any more from escaping. If you managed to shake your head at the poor girl, that would have been a miracle. Regardless, she sat beside you on the bench and placed her hand on your shoulder. “Miss, your hair. It's...mussed. May I fix it? It's no trouble at all.”

You nodded weakly, but that was nowhere near enough. This kind girl deserved, at the very least, your words. After a long shaky breath, you spoke. “Yes. Please. Thank you, Rowan.”

As she unwound your ruined braids and combed her fingers through your hair to detangle it, you allowed your eyes to slip closed. She was spending more time on this process than she needed to, and you could have kissed her for it. Slowly, your hands stopped trembling and your heart rate returned to normal. Your chest was still tight, and the rib you'd injured in the wolf attack was throbbing, but the rest of your body was beginning to relax.

“My father was here,” you mumbled. “He was angry. He felt he hadn't been paid what he was owed for me.”

“Is he a father, or a farmer raising livestock?” Rowan's voice was low, but you could not miss her disgust. You shrugged one shoulder.

“We fought. Rather, he yelled, and I tried to keep him from yelling. Then he hit me. He wanted to take my necklace to make up for what he felt he was cheated. When I wouldn't give it to him, he became enraged.”

Her hands stilled, but you had no way to know if it was because of shock or because she was checking to see if you still wore the chain. “But it belongs to you,” she said, aghast. “And it is so beautiful.”

“In truth, it is merely a trinket. I should have given it to him. Then all of this could have been avoided.” The words were true enough, but it stung your pride to speak them all the same. This necklace was so much more than a trinket. And yet it remained merely a necklace.

“No, my lady. It belongs to you. He had no more right to it than I do. I am glad you held firm. You were very brave.” She secured the final braid and rested her hands on your shoulders as lightly and quickly as tiny birds alighting for a moment. Her touch strengthened you.

“I was very stupid. There is no faster way to make him angry than to do what I did. Thor and Baldur were there to watch him...lose his temper.” You shivered as you remembered again, not so much at the thought of the assault, but at the knowledge that they had witnessed something so private, so...base.

“Oh.” She sounded surprised. “Your father did this? I thought Thor...”

“Thor stopped him.” Perhaps you shouldn't confess that you were just as surprised as she was. “I'm not sure why.” He'd been acting strangely for a while now, either avoiding you completely or looking at you with that thoughtful expression on his face. “Something's changed, but I can't tell what.”

“Thank goodness for that.” She ran her hands up and down your arms as though chafing them to warm you. Here and there she unwittingly found a tender spot (ones which you could only hope would not become bruises in the morning) but you did your best not to flinch. There was no sense in making her feel bad. “He's to be king someday, but sometimes he still acts like a spoiled little brat.” Her words grew softer as she neared the end of her sentence, but she needn't have worried. Thor was still far away, speaking to his mother. “There. You look perfect once again.”

“Thank you.” You turned around in your seat and grasped her hands in yours. “Truly. Thank you.”

She lowered her eyes. “You mustn't thank me, miss. This is my job. I am happy to help.” Silence stretched between you just long enough that you began to expect someone to call for her just as they'd done for Sindri. The first one to disrupt the silence, however, was Rowan herself. She stood up and pulled gently to guide you to your feet as well. “I find the best way to forget unpleasantness such as tonight's is to set my mind to something else. Let the music distract you, miss. You'll be feeling yourself again in no time.”

You weren't entirely certain just how right the girl could be, but it was worth a try. Returning to the ball would, at least, be better than sitting on a bench in a deserted corridor. You summoned the courage to smile at her and inclined your head with gratitude. Her wide grin urged you onwards, so you steeled yourself at the doorway to the ballroom, hesitating just long enough to draw in a breath and steady your thoughts. You would not slink back to your quarters. You would not allow him to effect you so strongly, not while music still played.

The celebration had gone on in your absence, of course. People still danced and chatted and ate and laughed. It was comforting. It made it easy to pretend that nothing had happened. If only you could forget who had witnessed it.

“Princess!” Eir's voice made you flinch, but you beamed at her regardless. She had been partaking, perhaps, just a bit too heavily in the wine or ale, but there was no hardness in hr face like there was in your father's. If anything, she seemed more open. Just a little less dignified and composed than usual. Her eyes sparkled. Behind you, Rowan had disappeared.

“My lady, you know as well as I that I am not a princess.” Something about her warmth and openness made you shrink, close yourself off. Tonight you did not quite feel worthy of being bathed in her regard. But you smiled cautiously at her regardless, so as not to invite suspicion. 

She laughed, one quick laugh that sounded like a puff of air. “Ask the queen, humble princess, she'll tell you.” She sank into a deep curtsy. “It won't be long now.” Before she could say anything else, Thor came up behind her and slipped an arm around her waist to steady her. You dropped your eyes immediately. Normally when you were in his presence, it was fear that made you want to run. Right now it was shame.

“I trust that all is well,” he asked. His voice seemed more subdued than usual. You knew he was speaking primarily to you, but still you did not look at him.

“How could it not be on so beautiful a night?” Somehow your mumbled words made it out above the din that surrounded you. Let him forget, you willed the universe. Let him forget.

“There are some for whom the drink makes them quarrel. They lash out at others and harm them without reason. Such guests are dangerous, and must be escorted out past the palace gates.”

His civil tone should not have made you so dizzy with unease. You told yourself it had more to do with the events of the night. Still, just in case he was somehow threatening you, you curtsied slightly and said. “I can assure you, my lord, that I myself have not touched a drop of alcohol this night, and have given no one any reason to lash out at me. If you'll excuse me...”

As you hurried away from the two of them, you paid little heed to the people staring. It didn't much matter to you where you were going or who was looking at you, so long as you were away from Thor. In your blind haste, you ended up running straight into someone. You were already so wound up, your nerves already so frayed, that you couldn't stop yourself from crying out. The person's hands closed around your upper arms.

“What is it?” Of course it had to be Loki. He was peering at you with such concern that it nearly set you off again. “Darling, what's happened?”

You sighed and managed a sheepish smile. “Nothing. It's nothing. I was lost in my thoughts, that's all, and you startled me.”

“I startled you?” He laughed and pulled you closer to him so the two of you could begin to dance together. “Imagine how I felt, seeing my love come tearing toward me through the crowd but showing no signs of recognition.”

“I'm sorry.” Your voice sounded small. You needed a good night's sleep, that was all. As lovely as the ball was, you were getting exhausted. “But you didn't recognize me either, when you were up on that platform looking at me.”

The rich sound of his laugh was a salve on your nerves. “I was hoping you wouldn't notice, but I suppose it was obvious. I couldn't help it. I'd heard whispers of your beautiful gown, but I hadn't realized just *how* beautiful. I thought I was looking at one of Mother's friends, or a foreign noble.”

“And didn't you want to get to know her? The stranger in the eyecatching gown? She was wearing your colors, after all.”

He spun you away from him, then whirled you back again. “In truth, I hardly even noticed the colors of the dress until I realized that it was my lady who wore it.” Because you were not entirely sure how to respond to his words, you remained silent. With practice, dancing had become much easier—and less embarrassing. It still required just enough of your attention that it made it easy not to think about anything else. You could clear your mind and focus only on your prince's body, particularly his feet. The world shrank down to the two of you, a still, peaceful island in the sea of dancers and music. Slowly, slowly, the crowd thinned out: guests were retiring to their rooms or making their way to the chariots to return to their villages. 

Towards the end of the night, long after you had begun resting your head against Loki's chest and allowing him to support more of your weight as you danced, Thor appeared beside the two of you as if by magic. All of the tension that had drained from your muscles returned in an instant. Loki was nonplussed.

“Brother.” Thor's voice was still subdued. “A word.” His eyes flickered over to you. Your own eyes widened. You might have spoken up, tried to convince Thor that whatever he had to say could certainly wait for another night, but your words were stuck. Instead, you tightened your grip on Loki. He chuckled quietly and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I'll only be a moment, darling. Wait here. If you disappear again, I fear I'll never find you.”

You watched him slip away. Thor cast a look at you over his shoulder, a look with an oddly...apologetic quality to it. You tried not to let your temper surge. If he was telling your prince about what he'd witness in the corridor, then he had no right to feel apologetic. It wasn't as though he had no other choice. Loki listened. Every once and again, he glanced back at you with such a beautiful smile that you could almost forget what Thor was undoubtedly telling him. But then his back stiffened at something Thor said, and even at this distance you could see the way his eyes flashed with rage. 

Despite Loki's very straightforward request, you allowed yourself to fade backwards into the ever-thinning crowd. If he were to lose his temper here, in the middle of everyone, you did not wish to bear witness. Quickly—but not so quickly as to draw attention to yourself—you left the ballroom, once again seeking out the deserted quiet of the corridors outside.

You wandered for some time, gradually making your way back to your quarters in a long, winding path. Perhaps it was rude for royalty to leave the ball before the last guest. But of course that had nothing to do with you. Your presence would not be missed by anyone, except perhaps for an angry prince and his vindictive brother.

As you passed a small alcove which housed an old statue—a monarch from centuries past, most likely—you heard a soft sound that stopped you in your tracks. You paused, listening. Soon the sound came again. Someone was hiding on the other side of that statue, and if they were not currently crying, they had been not long ago. 

“Hello?” You peered around the statue, and could just make out the small huddled form. “Who's in there?”

There was a long silence before they finally spoke. “It's only me, miss.” Sindri. And she sounded miserable. You squeezed around the statue and sat on the cold tile beside her. She didn't look at you, but you couldn't miss how thin her shoulders seemed. Despite her incredible strength and near-constant cheerfulness, she was still a child. How long had she been here, crying alone in the dark?

“What are you doing here?” You made an effort to keep your voice low, in hopes of soothing the child. Her hair, which at the start of the night had been pulled back neatly into a bun, was now falling in her face. Remembering what had happened not so long ago in the servants' quarters, you felt yourself pale. You brushed her hair over her shoulder. She didn't flinch, which was a good sign. But then realization struck you, and your heart broke for her again. “Your mother never came.”

Her only response was to lift one shoulder in a shrug. Poor girl. You recognized the wordless torment. Any other night, you would never have touched her without first asking, but tonight was different. You slid your arm around her back to pull her closer, into a half-embrace. For a moment or two, she was impassive: not stiffening in your arms but not relaxing against you either.

“I'm so sorry, Sindri,” you murmured against the side of her head. “I'm sure she's sorry too. I'll bet she's just as upset as you are.”

“Only a baby would be this upset,” she said. Her voice was thick. “I'm too old.”

“For disappointment?” the shock in your voice was genuine. “Darling, never...”

Something about your words made her finally turn to you and hide her face in your neck. She was silent, but before long you could feel hot tears on your skin. You felt utterly helpless. Nothing you could do or say would bring this child's mother to her or lessen the pain of her absence. Without thinking, you scooped her up into your arms and struggled to your feet. She was still small, and not particularly heavy, but her long arms and legs made you feel somewhat ungainly. Thankfully, you neither tripped nor dropped her as you made your way back through the corridor.

With a bit of effort, and just enough luck for a servant to be hurrying by just as you needed him to open the private entrance to Sindri's room for you, you had soon settled the girl onto her bed. A part of you wondered if she had anything to sleep in besides the dress she was wearing, but instead of helping her undress, you merely unfastened what was left of the bun at the back of her head. She had stopped crying again, and was now silent. You rubbed tiny circles against her back and fluffed her pillow for her.

“She sent word by messenger.” She sounded numb. “I had to keep from crying in front of a stranger, and then I watched him stuff his pockets full of food before leaving.”

“Oh, Sindri.” You combed your fingers through her hair. Your overwhelming sense of helplessness had yet to fade. What could you possibly do for this girl? “Is tonight the only night that she is allowed to visit?”

Sindri laughed mirthlessly and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “That's why I'm such a baby, miss. She can some whenever she wants. I see her often. It's just that she always comes on the first night of the celebrations.”

You stood up and wriggled the blankets out from under her so you could tuck them closely around her. She was laying on her side, avoiding your eyes. “I understand. You're not a baby. It must be hard being away from her.” Neither of you brought up the situation that led to her being at the palace. You continued rubbing small, soothing circles on her back. “My mother wasn't around for very long, but I do remember most of a song she used to sing to me. I'd be willing to bet it's a song your mother has sung to you as well. Would it help you to hear it, or would it only make you sadder?” Singing seemed like it might be something to help her fall asleep, but not if it only brought back upsetting memories.

“Is it about the sunshine?” She sounded so young. She reached out from under the covers to take your hand. You squeezed her fingers gently.

“That's the one.” It was comforting to hear that other people knew your mother's song as well, that it was a part of so many other children's memories. None would ever mistake your singing voice for that of a siren, luring sailors to their deaths in the oceans, but you murmured the words anyway. After the first verse, Sindri joined in with her own small voice. 

Not long after that, the girl's exhaustion finally took hold, and she trailed off into silence again. You continued humming until you heard her breathing even out into the calm, peaceful breath of sleep and then rose carefully from the bed. She did not so much as stir.

You closed the door quietly behind you and made your way back to the door that led to your own quarters. The door was open, and light from the room beyond came flooding into the small stone hallway. That was strange. Even if you had forgotten to shut it behind you, the concealing tapestry should have blocked the light. You stepped through the doorway, unsure what to expect.

Loki was standing there, not far from the doorway where you now hesitated. He had one hand resting against the wall, the other stuffed deep into the pocket of his trousers, and his head hung low. Someone—the prince himself?—had ripped the tapestry off of the wall. As you looked around the room, you discovered that that was not the only sign of a struggle: items which had once rested on top of the stands beside the bed were now scattered across the floor. Most of the blankets and furs from the bed were there too. Had someone torn the room apart looking for something?

“Loki, what—?”

“He was here.” He spoke at the same time, but the uncharacteristic raggedness of his voice made you stop. He would not raise his head to look at you. “He was here and no one told me. My lady, his victim. Even she sought to keep it from me.”

Your stomach twisted. He had to be talking about your father, then. You had been correct in assuming that Thor had opened his loud, cruel mouth, and the destruction that had visited upon your quarters had come at the hands of your prince. “Thor—”

“Thor came to me to tell me the problem had been dealt with.” He laughed bitterly. “Dealt with. He'd had the brute escorted out of the palace gates, and had the nerve to consider the problem dealt with.”

Something about his words struck a chord within you: that was precisely what Thor had told you about guests who became belligerent—no, quarrelsome—after drinking too much. He was not threatening you, you finally realized. Had he been assuring you that you were no longer in any harm? You were thunderstruck. Loki was still mumbling to himself.

“The man left with his entire body intact, after having rained down blows upon my...my beloved. How has the problem been dealt with? He still has both fists, each finger, every tooth. And my brother, still another man who has sought to do you harm, felt the need to warn me to be tender with you this night.”

Silence fell between you, as thick and impenetrable as iron. What were you supposed to say? Should you be assuring him that you were not hurt? Apologizing for seeking to keep this secret from him? Soothing his anger and stroking his ego enough to convince him to take you to bed? You caught yourself twisting your hands in your beautiful skirt and forced yourself to straighten your arms at your sides.

“I lost my temper,” he continued. “I looked for you in the ballroom, but when you were nowhere to be found I thought you had come back here. When you were not in bed either, I...lost myself. I gave the monster free reign.” He turned from the wall now, but still did not look at you. Instead, he held his arms out, low and to the side, as though presenting to you the mess on the floor. “Here is your kingdom.”

The knuckles on one of his hands was bleeding. Trepidation forgotten, you went to him, and pulled his hand up to inspect it. His skin was ragged. You let your fingers hover over the wounds, not quite touching. “What have you done?”

“I've hurt no one.” He tried to pull his hand away, but you refused to let him go. 

“You've hurt yourself. Loki...” If he had hurt no other person, had he punched a wall? You kissed the tip of each of his fingers, ignoring the smell of his blood.

“After my...outburst, I heard you. You were singing. After everything that has happened to you, you were singing so gently to a servant child. And here I stood, never even having seen the man who harmed you, and yet still surrounded by the effects of my rage.” He stopped trying to free his hand. You pressed it to your chest, your heart, and held it there. Though he was silent, something told you his mind was far from still. You took a step closer and reached to run your finger through his hair but he twisted his head away. You pulled your hand back, stung. He quickly grasped it with his own free hand and pulled it up to his mouth so he could cover your skin with kisses. An apology? “To think I ever thought myself worthy of you.”

The utter torment in Loki's face alarmed you. It was just like every time you had caught your prince in melancholy these past few days, except tonight he made no effort to mask anything. Was this what had been troubling him all this time? You couldn't bear to look at him any longer, and so you flung yourself against his chest, hiding your face in his neck and holding him so tightly that your muscles trembled.

“You're frightening me, Loki.” Your words were somewhat muffled, but you could only hope that they would make their way to his ears regardless. 

His response was immediate. Finally he wrapped his arms around you, and though his grip was nearly crushing, you did not mind. You felt him lower his mouth to press kisses to the top of your head. He did not move, did not speak, for what seemed a very long time. His muscles neither twitched nor trembled as he held you.

“That is the last thing I ever want to do,” he said. His voice was gruff, but not quite as ragged as it had been earlier. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. “I daresay that between your brute of a father and your beastly prince, you've had fright enough for a lifetime.”

That's what this was. He still saw himself in the same light as he saw your father. You rested your forehead against his chest for a moment, but then pulled away so you could be certain that he would hear and understand your words. “You were a different man when we first met. If you had not been who you were, I might not have met you in the first place, or you may not have chosen me at the ball. I do not resent our beginning, Loki; I cherish our present.” 

He seemed reluctant to believe you, but some of the self-loathing had eased out of his eyes. You reached up to caress his cheek. He caught your wrist and held your hand still against his face. “You must never forgive me,” he said. “Never. You must promise that you will remember how I behaved towards you, and that you will flee from me if I ever treat you in such a way again.” You opened your mouth to protest—what a ridiculous thought—but he slanted his lips over yours to silence you with a kiss that stole your breath away. Just as you lifted your arms to wrap them around his neck, he broke the kiss. 

He remained close enough that his lips still grazed against yours as he spoke. Even at this distance, you could see that his eyes were wide, almost wild. “This is important, darling. Promise me.” He tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear and brushed his thumb down your cheek. “Promise me this, and I shall promise to spend the rest of our days together atoning for my behavior.”

This was not something that he would easily forget. You nodded mutely, but that didn't seem like enough. He still stared intently at you, waiting for you to speak. “Very well. I will not forgive that man.” You stretched up to kiss the tip of his nose. His brow where it furrowed between his eyes. Each of his eyelids, gently. “But neither will I fear this one. You have not been him for a very long time now, my lord.” A feather-light kiss to each of his cheeks. “And the fact that our past haunts you so is assurance enough that you will never be him again.” You slid your fingers through his hair. When you tugged gently on the silken strands, the way he closed his eyes pleased you. “There. Is my prince feeling like himself again?”

“Near enough.” His voice sounded faraway. He had to be at least as exhausted as you were, did he not? Surviving a wolf attack, attending an elegant ball, tearing his bedroom apart... “Near enough to remember that I haven't asked after you.” His eyes shot open. “Are you hurt?” He did not inquire after specifics, for which you were grateful. Perhaps Thor had already described the attack. Even if he had not, you had very little desire to bring it up tonight.

You shook your head. “The bandage around my ankle itches a bit, but the day has left no damage on me. None that cannot be cured by a very long night's sleep.” Light was coming back into Loki's eyes. “And you? You did not reopen your wound while dancing with all of the beautiful women tonight, did you?”

He chuckled softly as he reached behind you to unfasten your dress. “The only woman who was worth noticing tonight is standing here before me. And no, love, I was very careful not to undo your Lady Eir's hard work.” Before long, he was sliding your dress down your body. As beautiful as it was, it was an enormous relief to remove it. You took a deep breath and ran your hands along your own bare sides, simply relishing the freedom. Loki allowed the dress to drop to the floor, but you immediately stooped to pick it up so you could drape it over the back of a chair. It was just too beautiful to allow it to rest on the floor. You took a moment to straighten the bodice and brush your hand over the skirt. When you turned back to him, he had already divested himself of most of his clothing and was just stepping out of his trousers. Perhaps he was feeling similarly about his formal clothing as you were about yours.

His eyes skimmed over your body and you caught yourself holding your breath. Hoping that your father had not left any marks on you. But when Loki met your eyes again, he was smiling. The weariness in his eyes had not completely gone away, but he was smiling, and that was a start. He opened his arms to you, and you stepped into them. Without warning, he swept you up into the air and deposited you safely onto the bed. You hardly even had time to cry out with surprise before he was spreading a blanket out over you. Not long after that, he slid beneath the covers himself, and took you back into his arms. It was like coming home.

You nestled closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder, and sighed contentedly. “Good night, my lord prince.”

You felt him kiss your forehead. If it were not for the way that your heart lurched in your chest, you might have thought that you were dreaming when you heard him whisper, “Sleep well, my princess.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really nervous about this chapter and I'm not entirely sure why. Unless, when you go ahead and read it, you discover that it's hot garbage, in which case...well, then I know exactly why I'm nervous about it. 
> 
> I hope you're all doing well! Those of you precious lovelies who take the time to comment on this fic or message me on Tumblr (I'm grufflepuff and grufflepuff-writes-stuff over there, in case you wanted to know and didn't): you give me life. And you give this fic life. It's not a matter of holding each chapter hostage until I get a certain number of comments, but knowing that there are still so many wonderful people out there reading this story despite its issues and the ridiculous wait time between updates keeps me motivated to keep working on each new chapter. You're why this is easily the longest story I have ever written _and_ why I'm still currently writing it. Those of you who read but don't really comment or send messages because you just don't want to, or because you feel like you don't have anything to say, you matter too. I see you leaving kudos (kudoses?) and increasing the hit count on this story, and that matters too.
> 
> So...here's the next chapter! I'm still around, still struggling through with this story even when my muse is silent, and I'm doing it for you! (Okay, and for myself, because I don't want to _not_ get to hang out (as it were) in this universe, but you know what I mean. I know where this story ultimately needs to end up, but I'm still working on how to get there from here. If there's anything in particular that you want to see but haven't so far, please don't hesitate to let me know. I always appreciate the inspiration. :)

You had not been sleeping particularly deeply when something awakened you, but you were still reluctant to give up that drifting, dreamy place. It was only when you felt Loki cover you with his half of the blankets and shift out of the bed that you opened your eyes. You took in the pale expanse of his back, marked here and there with even paler scars, as he sat with his head in his hands on the edge of the bed. 

“Loki? What is it?” You reached out to trace the lean musculature of his back, but he turned to face you before you could. The dim light of the fire just barely illuminated his face. It was enough for you to make out the tender smile that curled his lips as he looked at you. He took your hand in his and raised it to his lips.

“It's nothing, love. Go back to sleep. There's hours yet until morning.” 

But something—the memory of the events of the night before, or Loki's rage as he tore the room apart, or the memory of your secondhand heartbreak for Sindi—set your head to spinning, and you sat up instead, clutching at his hand to keep him from slipping away. “Where are you going? Don't go.”

Instead of pulling away, Loki edged closer and cupped your face with his free hand. He brushed his thumb over your cheekbone. Even the slight pressure from the contact felt wonderful, and you nearly allowed your eyes to slip closed. “There is to be a bonfire tonight, and it is tradition for my father, my brother, and I to go out and gather the wood. That's all. I won't be gone long.” He eyes searched your face, likely wondering where this panic had come from. In truth, you were unsure as well. There was nothing to fear here. You had spent plenty of days on your own, wandering the palace or visiting with Aurok or reading in the library. It was not his absence that you feared. But still, all you wanted in this moment was for him to lie back down with you, so you could wrap your arms around him and lay your head on his chest and keep each other warm in this early-morning chill. “Are you well, my love?”

Your cheeks burned. It was strange, this behavior of yours. You were acting like a child. You lowered your gaze and your hand. “Yes, Loki. I'm fine. I don't know what came over me. Forgive me.”

“My darling, there is nothing to forgive.” He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles gently. “I shall carry you with me today, right here.” He pressed your hand to his chest and looked away. Were you imagining things, or had his cheeks reddened somewhat? He did not speak this way often, for all his pretty words. 

“And I...I shall keep you here,” you tapped your own chest with your free hand, feeling at least as out of your league as you imagined your prince felt. “Until you come back.”

When Loki kissed you, it was at once tender and grasping. It spoke of gratitude, and an affection so deep that it made your head spin a little. All too soon, it was over, and Loki was sliding off of the bed to dress. You laid back against the pillows and watched him. Your eyelids were very heavy. In a way, you were grateful when he pulled his cloak about him and leaned over the bed one last time. He kissed your forehead, and when you tilted your lips up toward him, he obliged you there as well.

“Sleep, my darling. Be warm and well until I return.”

“ _You_ be warm and well,” you mumbled. Already you felt half in a dream. “If you're not back before nightfall, I'll come looking for you.”

His laugh was lovely, low and warm and rich. “I do not doubt that for a moment. Between your stubbornness and my own, may the gods save any who try to come between us. Until I return.” One last kiss, and then he was gone, leaving you to burrow back beneath the covers and finally fall back to sleep.

***

Someone was in the room with you, moving about. Fighting the urge to groan, you forced your eyes open. It was Sindri. She was crouched before the fire, stoking it expertly. Your breakfast tray sat on the table beside the bed, but the smells wafting towards you only made your stomach clench.

Sindri did not turn around even when you sat up in bed. Perhaps she was embarrassed about last night. You wrapped a blanket around your shoulders and leaned back against your pillows. “Please, would you mind adding more wood?” Your voice was more like a croak, and you winced.

She hesitated for so long that you almost began to suspect she hadn't heard you. Just as you were beginning to gather the strength to speak again, she took another piece of firewood from the elaborate holder beside the fireplace. 

“Are you cold, Miss?” She asked. Finally, she rose, and turned slowly to face you.

You shrugged, a motion that was surely lost among your many covers. “I don't know. A little. I think I may have caught a bit of a chill last night?”

All of the girl's hesitance drained away, replaced by concern. “Should I send for a healer? Are you unwell?”

“No!” Your voice might have carried more authority if it had not cracked, causing you to cough several times and clear your throat. Already you could feel a dull ache taking up residence in the back of your throat. “No. That's not necessary, Sindri. But thank you.” How many illnesses had you survived back home with no healer to help you? The thought of one more person having to take care of you was worse than anything your body could do to you. 

The girl looked at you uncertainly for a while, but before long, she dropped her eyes. “Aren't you hungry? Your breakfast is there.” She jerked her chin towards the tray. You barely even gave it a cursory glance. That must have been answer enough for her. She took one tiny step forward. “The tea is hot. It'll feel nice, if you're ill.”

There was something in her voice that was almost like desperation. After the night before, the poor girl was likely embarrassed, and looking for ways to make things return to normal. One way to do that would be to slip back into your original roles—for her to take care of you again. To preserve her pride, you retrieved the tea, even though you wanted nothing to do with it. Sure enough, she looked relieved.

“I'm not very hungry,” you ventured. “Have you eaten?” How distant would she keep herself?

She stood motionless for a moment, perhaps asking herself the very same question. Finally, she wavered and scooped up the plate of sliced fruits before perching on the edge of the bed. Together you recounted the events of the night before, Sindri doing more talking than you, with stories that were a hundred times more interesting than anything you had seen. From time to time she would thrust a piece of fruit at you and you would take it without a word. Sindri didn't breathe a word about your family's visit. Perhaps she was being kind, or perhaps she already knew all she needed to know. Likely it was a mixture of the two. In return, you did not mention her mother. By the time she excused herself, things felt mostly normal once again. She looked directly at you on her way out the door, and her smile seemed genuine. She would be okay.

You sat in bed for a while after Sindri had gone, hardly doing anything except trying to build up the will to move. The sun was shining cheerfully outside. If you layered on as much of your outdoor clothing as you could, that could be enough to allow you to venture outside. The stables were warm—you could visit with Nanna a while, and maybe Aurok, if he wasn't too busy. But the thought was daunting. All those heavy layers? The distance between the palace and the stable?

All you really wanted to do was pull the many blankets up over your aching head and go back to sleep for the rest of the day. You were ill. The thought had been there, present and nagging in the back of your mind since Loki had first woken you, but now with no other distractions, you had to accept it. You were, most assuredly, ill.

But you had still been right to refuse Sindri's offer to get a healer. That was certain. You had faced countless such illnesses at home with no healer, and you had taken care of all your various responsibilities besides. Perhaps it was different for people who had lived their whole lives in comfort. They'd never had to endure the discomfort of sickness, so of course they would not want to. It was only natural to try to avoid any unpleasantness that you could possibly avoid. But you, you'd experienced it, and survived it, and it really wasn't so bad—certainly not bad enough to make you ask yet another person to serve you again.

It went against every second of your upbringing to ask someone to take care of you. The rational side of your brain told you that it was idiotic to be so worried about that, that taking care of others was the job of many who lived in the palace, but you could not shake the feeling. Call it pride, call it shame, it did not matter much to you. This was a cold, nothing worse. You would survive it. You always had.

Of course, you had to admit to yourself while the very thought of getting up and getting dressed drained the last of your energy from your bones, this threatened to be a very bad cold... You picked at your breakfast for a little while. There had been long stretches of days at a time at home when there had been almost nothing to eat, and those days always seemed to make it easier to get sick. So now, faced with an abundance of food, you forced yourself to eat. Nothing was particularly appealing. The bowl of hot grain you avoided completely. It was sure to have cooled by now, and your stomach tightened at the thought of the texture. By the time you had to stop, you'd barely made a dent in any of the dishes but your stomach threatened to rebel anyway.

You sat back and drifted for a while, caught in that strange place between asleep and awake. The bones of your face throbbed dully but constantly, and the discomfort they offered you was overshadowed only by the aching that had settled into the rest of your body. Beneath it all, your stomach still struggled to digest your breakfast: it roiled and churned like a sorcerer’s cauldron. It was a good thing that Loki had left. He would have been worried if he was here, and would certainly have insisted that you allow Eir to take a look at you.

Your stomach tightened again, much more fiercely than it had before, and you sat up, with far more strength than you felt you even had. There was no time to think. There was scarcely time to get up. Still, you rushed, on shaky and uncertain legs, into the washroom. You just barely managed to keep from making a mess when you emptied your stomach. When you had finished, you turned toward the bathtub, careful to avoid catching sight of yourself in the looking glass, and perched on the side while you filled it with water.

Well, that had gotten you out of bed, at least. You laughed weakly and humourlessly.

When the tub was full, you removed your shift and sank under the water. Oh, that was perfect. It was hard to keep from moaning aloud. The water was hot enough to make your skin prickle, but the heat seeped into your bones and muscles and soothed them. You sighed and rested your head against the edge. Surely it wouldn't be too decadent to spend the rest of the morning just lying here, replenishing the hot water as necessary...? It was a beautiful thought, but one you pushed aside right away. No, you were going to face this illness the way you'd always done at home, and that certainly did not include luxuriating in a bath all day, wasting more water than your whole family would have used in a week.

But since you'd already drawn _this_ bath, not using it was wasteful too. You reached for some soap and did a halfhearted job of cleaning yourself before ultimately closing your eyes again. You drifted as you had in the bed, but this time you were much closer to sleep.

When the water finally grew uncomfortably cool, you rose and dried yourself off. Every limb felt cast from lead, but the chill and discomfort of the thought of spending the day in a towel drove you into the room with all your clothes. You dressed as quickly as you could—a plain dress made of something like wool but much softer, of a color halfway between silver and cream, with a warm emerald jumper buttoned over top. You pulled some thick stockings onto your feet and donned the fur slippers that Loki had given you not so long ago. There. The palace's cold air could hardly even touch you now. Still faint, but otherwise feeling rather refreshed, you decided to go to the library. It was somewhat more productive than sitting in bed all day. You might have preferred to scrub the floors or help the servants in the kitchen, but would not even bother asking. Anyway, if Loki ever found out...

There was no one inside the library, but a roaring fire in the fireplace had already warmed the air. Briefly, you considered the servants charged with lighting fires in empty rooms. The job seemed at once pointless and hopeful. You pulled the doors shut behind you and wandered among the stacks. This place... It held a thousand times more books than you had ever expected to see in your entire lifetime. Was it even possible to read this many books in a lifetime? You tried to ignore the insistent, almost desperate press of sheer potential as you searched the shelves. There wasn't anything in particular that caught your attention and, despite your vow to ignore your sickness, the big comfortable chairs before the fire were calling to you. After a rather long struggle, your exhaustion finally won. You picked a book that seemed reasonably interesting and carried it over to the chair.

Was this weakness? Not of the body—you knew perfectly well that you were not at your full strength today, though your life at the palace had increased your strength dramatically—but of the spirit. At home, when there had been no promise of cozy chairs or comforting baths, it had been so much easier to work through any illness. But here, where you were able—if not expected—to be idle, it was much harder to keep going.

The book's cover weighed at least ten pounds when you opened it, but you managed all the same. You fixed your eyes on the page. Reading was better than napping, you thought resolutely. You could allow yourself to sit here, as long as you were reading. It was not quite as easy as it usually was, and your mind wandered much more often than it usually did, but you did managed to spend the rest of the morning lost in the story.

It was hard to tell how long you'd actually been reading, but hen the words began to blur and swim, dancing on the page, you dragged your eyes away. You hadn't realized how hot it had gotten in here. You wrestled with your jumper until it dropped to the floor. That was a little better. The effort, however, had drained you just enough to not care about being productive. The book fell closed in your lap and you let your head tilt toward the back of the chair. It was hard to believe that, if you had still been in the village, you would have to be working right now. You imagined your father demanding lunch, your brother tracking endless amounts of snow and mud across the floors, and your head spun. No one, you thought drowsily, should have to work so hard when they are ill.

Someone was calling your name. Worse yet, they were touching you. Feeling as thought you were struggling to climb out of a well, you opened your eyes. It took a moment for them to focus, but when they did, you recognized Loki kneeling in front of your chair. His hands rested on your knees and he was peering at you with such a strange expression. All the same, you smiled at him. The lines of concern all but melted off of your prince's face. “You're back,” you said softly. Even whispering, your voice seemed to scrape against your dry throat. You swallowed painfully.

“And now so are you. I feared that perhaps some evil curse had befallen you and made you sleep forever.” He raised his hand to your forehead and then your neck. “You are very warm, love. Are you well?”

It was true—where usually you could accept his cool touch, now it was freezing cold. You wanted to cringe away from him, but pulled his hand up to your mouth instead. You blew hot breath on his skin to warm him.

“Am I warm, my lord, or are you simply as cold as ice? Did you wear any mittens while gathering wood?”

Before, you wouldn't have thought that a village girl could ever make a prince look guilty, but the way he lowered his gaze made you smile. “I seldom do. They get in the way.” It was his turn now to pull your hand to his lips, and he kissed you. “We've brought back enough wood to heat the entire palace during the bitterest winter night. This may be the biggest bonfire we've ever had. I am excited for you to see it.”

Right, The bonfire. You tried to smile. Napping all afternoon should have refreshed you, made you excited to venture out into the snow and watch the flames leaping. It was true that now you may have had enough energy to venture out and make it most of the way through the night, but you still weren't quite looking forward to it. But luck was on your side tonight. Usually, Loki would have noticed right away and maybe even demanded an explanation for your reluctance. But now he seemed distracted. Upset. You knew better than to ask him what troubled him, but you reached out to caress his cheek. He smiled, faintly, and turned his head to kiss your fingertips.

“Wouldn't you rather be sleeping somewhere more comfortable?” He was clearly trying to shake whatever was distracting him, but he didn't seem to have much luck. “Perhaps in our bed? You would have saved me from having to search the palace for you.”

“But then when you found me, you would have teased me for sleeping the day away.” Your pride would simply not allow that.

He seemed surprised. “Did you? Sleep all day? Are you truly well?” He reached as though to touch your forehead again, but you pushed his hand away before he could.

“Of course not. I spent most of it reading. I only just fell asleep.” You started to point to the book in your lap, but it was gone. Had it fallen? You searched the floor around the chair. Nothing. Had someone been in here while you were asleep? Your heart was thudding, but you weren't sure exactly why. Had you only dreamed that you'd picked out a book? Suddenly nothing seemed certain anymore.

“It's over there, on that table.” Loki's voice was gentle. “I moved it when I first found you. You didn't even stir.” He didn't seem distracted any longer—his sharp eyes were watching you, and you worried about what he would see.

“The library,” you explained weakly. “It's...so quiet. I suppose that made it easy to fall so deeply asleep.” You took his hand and squeezed it. “What should I wear for the bonfire? Is this nice enough? Am I underdressed?”

“You'll need this.” He held up your jumper—likely he'd picked it up when he'd moved the book. “And your cloak. And boots.” He trailed his fingertips down your leg and into your slipper, where he wrapped them around the arch of your foot and squeezed. The sound you made was halfway between a sigh and a moan. “But aside from that, you are...perfect.” He rose to his feet. You were exceedingly grateful for the hand that he extended to you. Sleeping for so long while curled into a ball had been comfortable enough at the time, but your muscles now protested the decision. He helped you to your feet. Walking with him, the corridors didn't seem nearly as long. Neither of you said much, but there was something comforting about the way he had his arm pressed low against the small of your back. He offered you strength, whether he intended it or not.

When you got back to the room, you traded your slippers for the fur-lined boots. Loki handed you your jumper and, though you already felt a little overheated, you put it on. Your cloak you only slung over one of your arms. You would need to be much colder than you were now in order to put it on. Again, if Loki found your behavior odd, he let it pass, offering you his arm and a gentle smile.

***

There was, indeed, a large, hungry fire burning brightly a safe distance from the palace. From a distance, it looked easily two or three times larger than a man, and when you approached it, it loomed still higher. Musicians played off to one side, standing in a small half-shelter to keep them warm. Children laughed and shouted, dodging in and out of the crowd while their mothers watched them with anxious faces. Servants and nobles alike were dancing and the sounds of conversation mingled with the crackling and roaring of the fire. It was almost—but not quite—overwhelming. You had made it through the ball, after all, and something about the dark sky above you and the cold air on your cheeks made this night feel more intimate and bearable.

Unlike last night, you were careful not to let Loki get too far away from you. In fact, you spent most of the night with your hand resting in the crook of his elbow. His free hand did not move from atop yours. You were content to stand quietly beside him as he spoke to friends and acquaintances. He seemed, for the most part, content to let you. There were only a few times when you felt his questioning gaze, his eyes searching your face. Of course, he could tell that you were not feeling well, but you must have done a satisfactory job of convincing him that it was nothing serious—and it was not—because he did not question you aloud.

There were several small tables with food (kept warm as if by magic) and hot drinks. Loki circled the tables several times, offering you samples of everything. You did your best to eat enough to keep him from worrying, but your stomach was already churning again. Eating anything felt impossible. You did, however, gratefully accept the tea that he offered you, and sipped it slowly as the night went on. The warmth of each sip temporarily soothed your aching head and face, but it never took long before the cold air stole the feeling away. Still, you did your best not to reveal your discomfort. If Loki knew about it, he might leave with you, and you didn't want him to miss the festivities.

As if on cue, spontaneous singing broke out among the crowd. Loki did not join in, but he did regard you, over the rim of his mulled wine, with an uncharacteristically cheerful expression. For the first time in a long time you had to force yourself to return his smile. When the song was over, having been ended with a flourish and great cheers from the party-goers, the band struck up another tune. Loki extended his hand, indicating the unofficial dance floor. An invitation. In a fog, you agreed. He took your mug from you and placed the drinks back onto the table, then whisked you away to a small open space just outside the immediate glow of the fire. 

The song was jaunty but not too high-spirited, for which you were grateful. If the tune had been any faster, following his lead might have been impossible. His strong arms encircled you and his bright eyes remained fixed on yours, and, for a short time, you forgot your misery as the two of you whirled around in the night.

You looked up at him with a smile you could not control, and his face was the last thing you saw before your vision dimmed, then faded out completely.

***

The world was dark and dizzying—and hot. You could tell without looking that you were in a bed, though the lack of your blankets' familiar weight told you that you were not in your own bed. Someone pressed something cool and damp against your forehead and without thinking, you turned toward it.

“Have you come back to me?” The voice sounded far away, but it was Loki. With great difficulty, you forced your eyes open and looked at him. He had little creases in his forehead and between his eyes, which lessened only marginally when he saw that you ere awake. “There you are.” He turned and called something to someone across the room, but you were still too disoriented to understand it.

“What happened?” Your voice was just as dry and scratchy as your eyes were. How long had you been sleeping? You felt as though you'd been trampled by an entire barn full of horses and then left to bake in the summer sun.

“You fainted,” he said simply. If your cheeks were not already burning with fever, they might have done so with shame.

“I've never fainted before in my life.” But the protest sounded weak even to you. For reasons you could not quite put your finger on, it felt very important to you that he know that. You were no fainting, swooning damsel. Had life in the palace truly changed you so much?

“Well, do you often go entire days without eating, and pretending you are not seriously ill?” At first, his words sounded almost light and teasing. How was he to know that, yes, that was in fact exactly how you'd addressed your illnesses in the past? So you lowered your eyes, which apparently told him everything he needed to know. He drew back slightly, and you knew without looking that anger would be blazing in his eyes. “I'll kill him.”

Whether because of the strangeness in your own head or the growling intensity in his voice, you had never believed him more than you did in that moment. He flinched when you covered his hand with your own. You got the feeling that he wanted to pull away, but didn't want to take the cool cloth away from you.

“It wasn't him, Loki. Not really.” It was torture to speak, but it was also torture to know that he was so angry. “The village is different from the palace. There are few healers there, and even the kindest ones have to charge _something_ for their services.” He did pull away now, inspiring a kind of panic in you, but it was only to dip the rag in a bowl of water to re-wet it.

“There are healers here, and yet here we are.” He draped the cloth across your forehead and stood up. For a while, you watched him stalk back and forth beside your bed, but soon the effort set your head to spinning, so you closed your eyes. “You are not in your village anymore. You are not the same impoverished child under the so-called care of a drunken lout. You have servants and nobles alike so hopelessly charmed that any one of them would fall over themselves to do anything that you ask, and yet you will not allow them to perform their most basic of services.” The words seemed pleading but, as always, Loki's temper simmered beneath. “Do you still think that you don't deserve the comfort the palace offers? Do you long to go back to that place and live amongst the filth?”

“No!” Your heart beat wildly in your chest. Dimly, you could remember that Loki had promised never to send you away, but in this state, there was no way to be certain whether a memory was real or dreamed. “Please, no. I don't want to leave you.” Tears pricked at your eyes. You heard him sigh, heavily.

“That's not what I meant. If you were to leave, I'm not sure I could survive it.” There was a long silence. It gave you time to compose yourself, for which you were grateful, but your heartbeat didn't quite slow down to normal. You didn't like this. 

“Can't I go back to our room? I don't like this place.” There were at least a dozen other beds in the same long room with you, and all of them empty. Several trays were scattered throughout the room: most of them were empty as well, but here and there some metal instrument glinted in the light. And the air smelled clean, which should have been comforting, but there was some strange chemical smell that burned your nose. You could not remember ever having been in a room like this one, and the sooner you could get out of here, the better. 

But Loki shook his head. “Absolutely not. You're staying in here, where someone can keep an eye on you. I'll not have you getting sicker.” He just kept shaking his head.

“Please, Loki. I won't get sicker. And...if I do, I'll tell you this time, I swear it. I don't need to be in here. You said yourself, I'm not a child.” You did your best to sit up a little straighter, and tried not to let him see how that made your head spin.

“How can I be sure of that? You went an entire night like this without saying a word to me. And I can't be trusted to keep an eye on you, because I had no idea that anything was even wrong until you were limp and lifeless in my arms.” You opened your mouth to protest—to remind him that it was just a habit, or to assure him that it wouldn't happen again—but he lifted one hand to silence you. “Do not argue with me!” His voice was sharp, and made you flinch. He sounded for all the world like the selfish, spoiled prince you had known when you'd first arrived, but the trembling of his hands gave him away. He was not angry. He was not dangerous. He drew in a breath, as though to say something else, but instead, he spun around on the ball of his foot and stalked wordlessly out of the room. 

You sat in stunned silence. Was that it? Was your conversation over? For a long time, you watched the doorway. When your eyes grew sore and scratchy, you were finally forced to close them and lean against the pillows, but you continued to strain your ears for any sign of his returning footsteps. Nothing. You were not quite sure when you fell asleep, but when you did, you dreamed of long winding corridors and deafening silences.

***

At first, you thought you were still dreaming. The queen herself was standing in the room, not too far from your bed. She was listening very intently to whatever it was that Eir was saying. Her face, as beautiful as ever, was set with worry. You couldn't blame her. She was in charge of, well, from what you could gather, nearly everything to do with the celebrations of the past few days. That was no small task. Eir glanced over at you, and when she saw that you were awake, she came over to perch on the edge of the bed.

“How are you feeling?” When she pushed your hair gently out of your face, her hands felt warm. Had your fever broken?

You took a moment to try to wet your parched lips and took a careful test-swallow to see how sore your throat was before speaking. Your first instinct was to assure her that you felt fine, really, perfectly able to get out of this bed and go back to your own room, but the memory of your fight with Loki made you change your mind. “I'm...thirsty,” you finally answered. “And...everything hurts. I don't know if I've ever felt this bad before.” The queen shifted, but you did not allow yourself to look at her. It was bad enough to have confessed that much to Eir, let alone to have done so in front of the queen.

Eir made a thoughtful noise, then patted your leg gently through the covers before standing up. She went to a small tray-table near the doorway. Though you could not see exactly what she was doing, the sounds of dishes and instruments rattling against each other did make their way to your ears. You struggled into a sitting position. Your muscles felt stiff and useless. However long you had been lying here, it was far too long. Still, you managed to sit up before Eir came back to the bedside. She handed you a mug.

“Drink this—but slowly. It will soothe your throat and ease the rest of your pains at the same time.” When you did nothing for a moment but inspect the surface of the liquid inside, she nudged the bottom of the mug. “But only if you drink it, Princess.” Her voice was low and teasing, but your eyes flashed guiltily over to the queen. She gave no indication of having heard, but she was staring at you intently. When she realized that you were looking at her, she made an effort to soften her expression, smiling faintly at you instead.

You took a sip. You had been fully prepared for something foul and bitter, but it was almost...sweet? You took another, somewhat larger drink, and Eir laughed.

“That's it, but do it slowly. Let your body adjust. You've been asleep for the better part of two days.”

Two days. Your jaw dropped open. “Someone should have woken me. Two days, that's—” 

“That's what you needed.” It was not Eir's voice, but the queen's. And she didn't sound at all reproachful or upset with you for your idleness. She took a step closer to the end of the bed. “It would have been cruel to wake you.”

You cast a questioning look towards Eir, who nodded. “It's a common illness, especially around the palace and markets in the villages outside the gates. Those who suffer from it only feel weak and sore in the beginning, and then a fever sets in. The fever drains what feels like every last ounce of energy out of you, and there's not much you can do but sleep.”

“Or hallucinate,” the queen chimed in. “Thor took ill a few years ago, and he tried to get to the palace gates to defend us from an incoming warren of rabbits.”

Eir laughed her musical laugh and turned to look at the queen. “I'd forgotten all about that! It's a good thing he was so weak by the time his fever dreams started. Imagine if he'd managed to get outside in the dead of winter wearing only his trousers.” 

You were not entirely sure why it came as such a surprise to hear that Thor had ever taken ill. As big as he was, and strong, no one was immune to everything. Perhaps what surprised you was knowing that Thor had ever felt even half as weak as you felt right now. “I haven't hallucinated yet, I don't think.” Was there still more of this illness to come?

“And you probably won't. Your body seems plenty adept at fighting off the sickness on its own.” Eir's voice sounded cheerful enough, but there was a heaviness in her eyes, a sadness. “Most often, that happens when someone is not taken to a healer for the various maladies of childhood.”

Why did she look so sad at the prospect? She'd just said that your body was stronger for it. You took another drink from the mug and raised one shoulder in a shrug. “If it kept me from hallucinating, what could be so terrible about that?” 

“It makes for a miserable child.” Eir's tone left no room for argument. Not that you could truly have refuted her statement even if you'd wanted to. You shrugged again and kept your eyes fixed on the drink you held.

“Did your village not have a healer? Were there not enough of them?” Something in the queen's voice made you certain that the wheels in her mind were spinning already—perhaps she was planning to flood the towns with more healers, in hopes of caring for the children there. If you had pretended to still be sleeping, perhaps you would never have gotten into this conversation. The only way that your conscience would allow you to answer her was with the truth, and the truth was too horrible and pathetic to speak aloud. 

“I didn't get sick often...” The lie tasted bitter. “But when I did, my family...didn't usually have the money to spare.” There, that was true.

“Your family, those were the men escorted from the ball, correct?” Logic told you that the heat in the queen's voice had nothing to do with you, but you tried to make yourself smaller anyway. You nodded. The room was silent for several long moments, until finally she blew out a breath that she must have been holding. “If I had known, I would never have invited them here. I would never have subjected you to them again.”

“I'm sorry,” you whispered. “I should have told you. I just...couldn't. It only causes trouble. When Loki found out—” The memory of the last time you'd seen Loki flared to life in your mind, as clear as though it had only just happened, and dread settled into your stomach like a rock. “Loki. Where is he?” It felt odd that you hadn't seen him since your fight—he didn't usually sulk this long—but maybe he had been by while you were sleeping?

Neither woman answered for a while, but when Eir spoke, there was an uncharacteristic note of hesitance in her voice. “We're not sure where he is. No one's been able to find him anywhere.” She nudged the mug again and, obediently, you took another sip, but it seemed to go flavorless and sticky in your mouth. You mulled over the news for several long moments. You gripped the mug so tightly that your fingers began to ache from the effort.

“I think...I don't know, but as angry as he was with me, he was a hundred times angrier with my father. He wanted to—” How could you say such a thing to the queen about her son? You lowered your voice to a hoarse whisper. “He said he wanted to kill him. He wouldn't—could he be in my village?” Your voice cracked, and your heart too, at the thought of your Loki trying to fight your father. Loki's rage was strong, but your father's fists were mighty, even when he'd had too much to drink. And if your brother joined the fight...? “He can't. They'll kill him.” You were going to be sick. Frantically, you looked around, searching for a basin or a bucket or anything, but there was nothing. “Someone has to stop him.”

Eir put the mug on the bedside table and cupped your face in her hands. “Breathe,” she commanded, and you found yourself obeying her without thinking about it. Because you really had no other choice, you gazed into the rich gold-flecked depths of her eyes as she spoke. “No one is doing any killing today. Nod if you understand. Not that boy, not your family, not even the beasts in the woods. It's all going to be okay. But you're going to be in the infirmary all winter if you don't sit back and let yourself heal. Can you do that?” She sounded so firm and certain of what she was saying that you nodded again. She rewarded you with a small, but brilliant, smile and handed the mug back to you.

“I'll dispatch some riders all the same,” the queen mumbled. “Feel better, darling. I'll look in on you later.” And then she was gone, before you could even begin to assure her that you knew she was busy and that she didn't need to visit you.

You stared at the doorway for a few moments after she'd gone, but looked away when you felt Eir move slightly on the bed. Before she could nudge the mug again, you took another sip.

“Now you're learning,” she said with some small amount of pride in her voice. But then she fell quiet again. There was something in her silence. She wanted to say something. Because it seemed so unlike her to hold back, you got the feeling that it was about the ball. She caught you studying her face and smiled, but this time it didn't quite reach her eyes. “Are there any other pains I should take care of? Your head? Your ribs?”

You shook your head. You knew what she was really asking—how badly did he hurt you? “It was nothing, really. I'm fine. Except for this sickness.”

“Are you? Truly? Whatever Thor witnessed at the ball, it took his cheer from him. He was as somber that night as ever I've seen him. Maybe more.” Her big dark eyes were searching, but Thor's name made you slam shut with wounded pride.

“He should not have witnessed anything,” you said before you could stop yourself. “But I come from drunks and gutter-snipes with no better judgment than to bring their greed and cruelty to the gates of the palace. Loki chose wisely, didn't he?” You did not usually feel this way, not anymore, but you were aching and exhausted and worried for your prince. It was hard to help it.

“He did,” Eir pronounced, and leaned forward. She didn't cup your face again, but she did move her own face very close to yours. “More than you know. You are the reason there won't be any killing today. You've changed him for the better, and don't think the whole palace doesn't see that.”

You wished you could be as certain as she was. The best you could manage for her was a tiny nod, but it seemed to be enough. When she sat back, she looked embarrassed. “Look at me, scolding a patient. I'm sorry.” But she bade you drink before you could tell her that there was nothing to be sorry for. The medicine was cooling now, and starting to get a little bitter, so you drank it more quickly than you had been, draining most of what remained before lowering it to your lap. She took it from you, inspected it, and rose to take it back to the cart by the door. “I should go. I've a few others to check on this afternoon. I'll come back later this evening. That tea should have made it easier for you to sleep for a while.” She smiled, but her eyes shut down any protest that you might have attempted. “And, after all, there's nothing else for you to do.” She bowed slightly and then she, like the queen, was gone.

It was true, what she'd said about the tea. The medicine. Whatever it was, it had made your head feel pain-free but also...floaty. Not completely there. A small part of you—the medicated part, you figured—worried that it might float up away from your body and drift along the palace ceiling. Perhaps it was a good idea to take a nap. You slid down a bit, so your head was more supported by the pillows, and pulled the covers up over your shoulders, drifting into a dreamless sleep.

The next time you opened your eyes, you were feeling much better. You were not quite as sore, and most of the fog had vanished from your brain. When you turned over onto your side, your eyes landed on a figure hovering, ghostlike, by the door. At first, you thought it was Loki and your heart soared hopefully, but as your eyes adjusted to being awake, they took in the figure's size. Not Loki. Thor. Your heartbeat sped up a little, but he didn't move. He hadn't yet realized that you were awake, perhaps, which meant that you could pretend to still be asleep. He might go away.

But something told you that was foolish. He wasn't here to hurt you, you were sure of that much and, anyway, he'd clearly already been standing there while you slept, and you had no way of knowing how long it had been. And if he did want to hurt you, he could easily have done so before you woke up. Whatever he wanted, he was probably not a threat. You licked your lips (still dry, but at least not as painful) and, before you could change your mind, you called out to him—“Hello?”

Even from a distance, you saw the way he jumped. He cleared his throat and raised a hand in a wave. “I...thought Loki might like me to look in on you in his absence.”

Your heart sank. “He's still missing.” Without even realizing it, you had been hoping that he'd be back when you woke up.

“We should be hearing from the riders soon. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. As soon as we know anything, someone will come to tell you.” 

You nodded and sat up, pulling some of the covers around you like a cloak. “What happens if a prince commits murder?”

For a long time, Thor did not answer. Too long. His silence was answer enough. You wanted him to assure you that Loki wouldn't do such a thing, as Eir had, so he surprised you when he finally did answer. “If he's found to be guilty, he'll be imprisoned like anyone else. Mother thinks it's important to show the people that the law treats everyone the same.”

“Oh.” It was all you could manage. Imagining Loki in a prison cell left you cold.

“We have cells in the palace,” he continued, perhaps hoping to cheer you? “They are...not quite as grim as what you may be imagining. He would be close by. You could visit him often.”

He was not crowing about what would befall you in his brother's absence. He offered no false reassurances about taking you as his chambermaid. Perhaps this was as much reassurance as you had any reason to hope for from him. You wanted to ask him what had happened to change him so completely, but you held your tongue. If you made him angry and he left, you had nothing else to do but sleep. So you said nothing, and he remained where he was, still hovering near the doorway.

“Why are you all the way over there?” You regretted asking as soon as you did it. It wasn't that you wanted him closer, it was just...conversation. He seemed uncomfortable. “You don't have to stay. You've looked in on me, done your job. I'm sure Loki will thank you.”

“I didn't want to startle you. You were asleep. I thought if you woke up and saw me, of all people, standing above you...”

He made a good point. That nightmare in the garden seemed years away, but you had yet to forget his cruelty. “You're probably right,” you mumbled. “But...if you're going to stay, could you come closer, please? It hurts to speak very loudly.”

That was perhaps the best thing you could have said. Thor made his way over to you. He brought a wooden chair from beside one of the other empty beds and placed it a safe distance from you. His large frame made the chair look even smaller, and you had to look away from him so you wouldn't laugh. That's when he placed something in your lap. A book. You touched the cover gently—you recognized the title, but didn't know the story—and looked at him with a half-formed question on your lips.

“Eir told me you were sick. All I can remember from when I suffered the same is the mind-numbing boredom.” He held his hands out to the sides, half a shrug, half a disavowal. “I thought you might like something to read, at least.”

Oh. You looked at the book again, not entirely certain what to do with such a gesture from this prince. Strangely enough, this was something you might have expected from Loki, the once-cruel and spoiled prince. Someone else might not have been at all surprised at such behavior from Thor but, as far as you could tell, he hated you.

You looked up quickly, suddenly having remembered you manners. “Thank you, my lord. That is very thoughtful of you.” He shrugged uncomfortably, and silence stretched between you a little longer before his voice finally rumbled again.

“The way I have treated you is appalling.” He let that sink in a while before continuing. He sounded awkward, even stilted, nothing like the royal face he presented to the world. “Before you arrived, I had never known anything that Loki could have but that I could not take from him. I lost myself for a long while, and it is unforgivable. It will never happen again, I can assure you.”

What should you say? You had never expected to hear anything like this from him. Your mind was blank. “...Thank you,” you finally managed. You hoped he was right, but you kept that to yourself. Neither of you spoke for a long time. In fact, it was only when your curiosity got the better of you that you finally asked, “What changed?” Why had he gone from seeing you as a possession to seeing you as a person?

He was quiet for long enough to make you wonder if he was going to pretend he hadn't heard you. You had just begun to resettle your pillows when he did finally answer. “When I saw that man hitting you, I saw myself. It was ugly. And then I looked at your face and I could see that my presence still frightened you more than his. That was when I finally understood what I had done. And I was disgusted.” 

He'd stopped talking, which should have meant that it was your turn to speak, but you couldn't think of anything to say. You just nodded slowly. After all your time here, you were no longer as shocked as you once were by apologies. Still, you weren't entirely certain what to say. You couldn't imagine yourself assuring him that everything was well, that he had nothing to apologize for. Technically, had he even actually apologized? “Thank you,” you finally repeated. It sounded like a question. He nodded and sat back.

Though the silence that filled the room wasn't exactly comfortable, you also didn't feel overly inclined to fill it with chatter. Neither did he, apparently. When you stole a glance at him, he was still leaning back in the chair and studying a point about halfway between the floor and the top of the mattress. Okay. You turned your attention to the book in your lap, opening the cover and turning thoughtfully through the first few pages. When you were bored enough, you would read anything, but this seemed like a good book. You flipped back to the first page. Before you had read more than a paragraph or two, Thor's voice rumbled again, making you jump.

“You are strong,” he said. “Much stronger than I gave you credit for. To have come from...what you came from, to have survived it, and to have withstood the things I said and did. Even now, you're sick with something that had me feverish and ranting, and look at you.” You didn't raise your eyes to look at him, but you could hear traces of a smile in his voice. 

You finally looked up, out of shock, but before you could even begin to try to formulate the proper response, someone knocked on the door frame and peered into the room. Baldur. His face looked grim, but, you told yourself, that was how he always looked. It meant nothing. Thor went to speak with him in uncharacteristically hushed tones. Without thinking, you slid your legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was cool, but it did not send the expected chill jolting up your legs. Neither of them glanced your way the entire time they were talking, which only served to increase your dread.

Briefly, you considered standing up and making your way over to join the men, but you held back. Two days was probably not enough time to make your legs too weak to support you, but they were...very far away, and though much of your energy had returned, the thought of going to them was still exhausting. Baldur finally looked at you, and then touched Thor's shoulder to direct his attention as well. They said something else to each other before coming back to your bedside.

“It is good to see you awake,” Baldur said, and bowed slightly. “But are you sure it's wise to get up just yet? Personally, I would not dare to attract the healer's wrath. She is a beautiful woman, but there is something otherworldly about one who has wrested so many back from the clutches of Death. I would not wish to tangle with her...” 

“I think I had only just finished coming to the same conclusion,” you admitted, and pulled your legs back up onto the bed, beneath the blankets. You busied yourself with smoothing out each tiny wrinkle in the fabric, because to ask him the question that burned on your lips would be to potentially invite an answer you did not wish to hear. Finally, however, you could bear it no longer. “Is there...news of Loki?” You were very careful not to look at either of the men.

“Not of him, no.” Baldur sounded apologetic. “But the riders have reported that your family is alive and well. They've posted a pair of guards near your house, in case he does show up after all, but we do not believe there is any threat.”

If you were feeling more like yourself, you might have taken the time to analyze, or at least be horrified at, the fact that you were more concerned over Loki's safety than your family's. As it was, you only leaned back into the pillows. You cursed your illness. If you were not stuck in here, you could have been out looking for him. Then an even more uncomfortable thought: if it had not been for your illness, you would not have fought, and he would not have disappeared in the first place. If the men caught sight of your tears before you managed to force them away, they both had the decency to pretend otherwise.

“Well...good.” Your voice was quavery, but surely you could blame that on your sore throat if pressed. “Now we just have to hope that someone finds him before something worse happens...” In truth, you were not sure what that could be. He no longer seemed the type to pick a fight with a roving band of criminals, but it was hard to be certain.

“He'll be back,” Baldur said with a quiet certainty that still somehow felt a hundred times more powerful than anything you had ever felt in your life. “He would not leave you for long.” He ducked a little to meet your gaze, and offered you a smile that even crinkled the corners of his eyes. You returned the smile despite yourself. “I give you my word.”

They stayed and visited for a while. Although Baldur did not strike you as someone who tended to engage in conversation for conversation's sake alone, he remained as long as Thor did. Intentionally or not, the two of them managed to distract you, keep you out of your own head enough to prevent the endless spiral of what-ifs that you knew you would fall into otherwise. You still were not entirely comfortable around Thor, and Baldur did not seem entirely comfortable around you, but the dynamic between the three of you was enough to smooth out the bumpy spots, and it was...okay. Better by far than sleeping all day, anyway.

Footsteps sounded from the doorway, and you looked up immediately, but of course they were not Loki's. They were too quick, too light. Instead, a servant you had seen around the palace but never really spoken to, with greying hair and a tight face, came towards you carrying a tray. She stepped easily around the men and placed the tray carefully on your lap. Then, quickly but gently, she pressed the underside of her wrist to your forehead, then either side of your neck. Apparently satisfied, she lifted your chin to look at—into?—your eyes for a moment, and then took your wrist in her hand and felt your pulse. She did all of these things with an ease that told you they were all part of her job, but they completely baffled you. When you looked at Thor and Baldur, neither of them seemed at all taken aback by what she was doing, so you did your best to hide your own confusion. Clearly this was yet another aspect of being ill that you were unfamiliar with. 

When she was done touching you, she stepped back a little and offered a smile that lit up her entire face. You could see now why she worked in the infirmary. “How are you feeling this evening?” She asked, and waited for your answer. 

You knew she was looking for the truth, and that it had to do with your care or the medicine that Eir would give you, but you still hesitated to say anything in front of the others. “Er...okay. My head is starting to hurt again, but it's not bad. And my throat is...scratchy still, but it feels better than it did before.”

She nodded. “Any other aches or pains? Chills? Sudden exhaustion?”

“No, ma'am.” You shook your head as vigorously as you dared. “I really do feel much better than I did before.”

“Glad to hear it.” She indicated the tray. “The tea is the same as you had earlier, to ease your pains. The soup is...soup, because you need to eat and it'll be easy on your throat.” She cast a quick glance over her shoulder and turned, as though to block the others' view of the tray, and indicated a tiny covered dish in the corner of the tray. “And that's because it'll be easy on your throat and something sweet can make being ill a little easier sometimes.” She lifted the cover for just a moment, revealing a little rounded scoop of...something. Potatoes? Some kind of dough? Once again, you tried your best to hide your confusion, offering only a beaming smile. She seemed pleased.

“Thank you,” you said, and you had never meant anything more, but you also could not wait for her to leave so you could puzzle over the mysterious dish. She nodded.

“You're very welcome. Someone will be by later to collect the tray and look in on you again.” 

When she left, you ate several spoonfuls of the soup while doing your best to pretend you didn't feel strange eating in front of Thor and Baldur. For the most part, they made it easy: they ended up in their own conversation about noble matters of one type or another, and you ate your dinner while half-listening to them. The tea and the soup did much to soothe your throat, and by the time you finished, you were feeling much better. You pushed the tray away, but Thor sat forward.

“Wait. You forgot the best part.” His eyes were wide, giving his face a strange, almost childlike innocence. It was unnerving on him. He gestured to the little covered dish. “I've always eaten mine first. Mother would be proud of you for waiting.”

You took the cover off and set it aside. Your own ignorance frustrated you. What was this? It wasn't hard to guess why you had never seen it before, but all the same, you hated not knowing. “Do...do you want it?” It looked strange now: more liquidy than before. You started to offer the dish to Thor, but Baldur stopped you. His eyebrows were drawn together in consternation, but beneath them his eyes twinkled. He was amused at your reaction. Let them laugh. It wasn't your fault.

“Try it first, my lady. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.”

Well. You wiped your spoon on your napkin and dipped it into the little dish, bringing as small a portion as you could manage to your mouth. When it touched your tongue, you could not stop a tiny surprised “Oh!” from escaping. It was cool and sweet, and melted into gentle creaminess in your mouth. In an instant, you knew what it was. You'd never had it, but you'd heard about it from children at home whose families had more money than yours. It was cream, skimmed from the top of a pail of milk and mixed with sugar or honey or something else sweet, then churned with ice until it had solidified. “This is iced cream!” You took a larger spoonful and repeated the process, letting it melt down on your tongue and slide down your throat. When you opened your eyes, Thor was looking at you in shock, while Baldur looked uncharacteristically delighted. He was trying to hide his smile behind his hand, but it was unmistakable.

“You've never had it before? Surely even villagers have ice cream.” You shook your head, mostly as an answer to Thor's questions, but also as a request that he stop speaking. Baldur touched his shoulder.

“Let her enjoy it in peace.” 

This time, while you ate, both of them watched you, but you were so distracted by the newness of the dish that you didn't mind. When you'd finished it, you dipped your spoon one last time into the liquid left behind and sampled it. You felt silly, being so amazed by something that was clearly so simple and commonplace, but at the same time, your amazement overshadowed your self-consciousness. You laid your spoon down and looked sheepishly at your visitors. Thor still looked unnerved. Baldur was no longer smiling, but his eyes continued to shine.

“There isn't much livestock in my village,” you explained. “The animal products that we need, we have to get from the market, and they're hard to store. Milk and cream don't keep long. The palace is...like magic, sometimes.” You wondered if Thor was as unfamiliar with starting fires on his own, or growing something from seed, as you were with some of the things here.

You stifled a yawn. Just as it had before, the tea was working quickly, already making your head feel loose and airy. Baldur was the first to rise. He lifted the tray off of your lap and placed it on the bedside table. “We'll go. You should rest. If I hear anything else of your prince, I will be sure to let you know.”

Though you wanted to protest, assure them that you could stay awake for much longer, your entire body was growing heavy. Instead, you nodded and moved Thor's book from your lap onto the mattress next to you so you could lie down. You didn't even hear them leave.

***

You weren't sure what had awakened you. The only light in the room came from the torches lining the walls: the skies outside the windows were black. Had someone come to look in on you? It didn't seem like it: no one was nearby, and it didn't seem as though anyone had been touching you. So then...what?

There. A movement by the doorway. There was someone standing there. Just...standing. You sat up and swung your legs over the edge of the bed again. It was probably just as bad an idea to get up now as it had been earlier—or worse, since the shadows made it more difficult to see. But you didn't want to face this person lying down. “Who's there?” You spoke too loudly, which made your voice crack. For several long moments, you dissolved into a fit of coughing, but you were not so distracted that you did not hear his voice when he said your name.

Loki.

As soon as you could breathe again, you launched yourself to your feet. The world spun for a moment, but your legs held you, and you practically ran towards him. You heard him mutter something under his breath—an oath, perhaps—just before he caught you, but he crushed you in his embrace all the same. His hand fisted in your hair as you buried your face in his neck. Had you been carrying this tension all day? Your cheeks were wet with tears. “Don't do that again,” you sobbed into his neck. “Don't leave like that ever again.”

It took him several tries before you could allow him to pull back, and when he did he took your face in his hands. He brushed his thumbs across the tear tracks on your cheeks. You could see him a little better now that you were closer, and he didn't look hurt, but, then again, you were too close to see all of him. “I didn't mean to worry you,” he said quietly. He looked ashamed. 

“Well...you did.” You sniffled despite yourself. “I thought...you'd just said you wanted to kill him. I was afraid—” But you cut yourself off, because the thought seemed too ridiculous now.

“I thought about it.” His voice was low and grim in the darkness. “Once I left, I rode that way for a while, but I knew I wouldn't do it. I wouldn't have been able to look at you afterward. Touch you.” He brushed his thumbs against your cheeks again, as though to prove his point. “He survives.”

“And you remain free, with me, instead of locked up for committing such a crime.” You wrapped your fingers around his wrists, still gripping him too tightly. “Why did you leave?” Your knees gave out momentarily, but you caught yourself. Loki noticed anyway. He guided you back over to the bed and, although the mattress was much smaller than the one you usually shared, he joined you under the covers. Perhaps he didn't want to go without touching you any more than you wanted to go without touching him. 

“I lost my temper. I snapped at you.” He said it simply, as though it should have been obvious to you. “And then I saw the look on your face, your surprise. As though I had not spent the entire beginning of our time together doing the very same thing, I had to leave so you couldn't keep looking at me like that.”

In the dark, you drew your eyebrows together. He wasn't making sense. You moved even closer to him, pressed your head against his chest to listen to his heart beating. He was there. You tucked your arm around his waist and slung your leg over one of his. This was partly because the lack of space in the bed required it, but it was mostly so you could feel him all along your body. This was not a hallucination. Probably. You drew in a long, deep breath. He smelled real. 

“I don't care if you lose your temper,” you finally mumbled. “I don't care if you snap at me. I would rather have you roaring and screaming at me all day long than have to spend the day wondering if you were hurt. Or if you were even coming back.” Sleepiness was making it impossible to hold him as tightly as you wanted now, so you drew back just far enough to look at him. He looked at you with a gentle, but awestruck, look in his eyes. “I mean it. Don't frighten me like that ever again.”

His eyes fixed on yours, bright and fierce despite the shadows that darkened his face. He was listening. You allowed yourself one fleeting moment of surprised pleasure that he would listen to whatever you had to say before tamping it down. What was the surprise? He'd spent most of your time together doing the very same thing. Perhaps tonight it was only unexpected because what you were telling him went against something he so strongly believed. Finally, he nodded. He reached to smooth your hair down and drew in a breath. “I won't. I'm sorry.”

That was enough. You tightened your arm once more, in a half-embrace, and rubbed your cheek against his chest. In the morning, maybe you would try to convince him that you were feeling well enough to go back to your own room, so you could sleep in your own bed tomorrow night. For now, you took a moment to be grateful for this small bed, and the closeness it granted—required—with your prince. 

When you slept, you dreamt of leaping flames and iced cream and your prince, holding your hand, through it all.


End file.
